“I brushed my teeth,” I replied while leaning back against the counter and looking around.
The apartment hadn’t changed much in thirty-some odd years. It was one big, open space, with the long, well-equipped kitchen on the right just as you walk in. There was a small dining table near the large bay windows, and a couch in the middle, surrounded by bookshelves stacked to capacity and a decent entertainment system I had helped Pop set up a few years prior. The bathroom was down the hall, as was my old bedroom, now an office Dad hardly used since his retirement. The master bedroom stood just behind him, at the end of the kitchen. The curtains all around the room had been closed in preparation of my visit, and the lamps were all switched to the lowest settings.
“Well, you forgot your hair,” my dad said. He got my attention when he reached out to pat down stray strands. “And didn’t I teach you to shave?”
I laughed quietly, rubbing my cheeks. “It’s my unexpected day off.”
He grumbled something and retrieved two mugs from a cupboard and a plate for the donuts. “Maggie was supposed to have training today, but all of the shelters are closed.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
Dad was sixty-three and just recently retired after thirty years of teaching American Literature at New York University. He couldn’t handle the free time, and before he had cracked, I suggested adopting a dog. Enter his little princess, Maggie. Pop and she now spent their spare time volunteering, helping to rehabilitate other rescued pit bulls in the city.
Maggie ran across the kitchen carrying a squeaky toy, stopped at my side, and held it up.
“New toy?” I asked while taking it and tossing it gently across the room.
“It’s good to get new toys,” Pop said. “Dogs can get bored.”
Maggie brought the toy back, squeaking away. I tossed it again before watching my dad. I looked like him. He had aged with a grace I hoped was hereditary. We had the same dark brown hair, he said, though his was actually more gray at this point, and I don’t just mean according to my eyes. We both had strong eyebrows and what my ex-boyfriends called cute and dorky facial expressions. Sexy was not an adjective my dad and I heard, put it that way.
“Coffee?” Pop asked.
“Sure.”
He put some cream into both mugs. “You sounded upset on the phone.” He started pouring fresh coffee.
“Did I?” I asked, taking the cups and walking to the table with them.
“How’s everything with Neil?” Dad asked next.
I slowly sat, then turned back to watch him come over with the plate of donuts. “Fine.”
Pop eyed me critically while taking a seat. “Really.” It wasn’t a question.
“Things are okay,” I amended. “It’s been a bit up and down, that’s all.”
“Mostly down,” Pop said. He broke a donut in half and took a bite.
I didn’t argue as I took a donut for myself.
“It’s not healthy, Sebastian.”
“The donuts?”
Dad didn’t think it was funny. “You went through enough crap in school. You shouldn’t have to deal with this drama in your thirties.”
“Dad, I got shit in school for my wardrobe, not for being gay. Remember that time I accidently wore purple pants with a yellow shirt?” I still didn’t understand why that was such a fashion no-no, though.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said while waving a hand. “But you’re an adult. I’m not going to sit here and chastise you on your choice in partners.”
“I appreciate that,” I muttered. I wiped my hands together before leaning back and resting them behind my head. “Something strange happened at the Emporium yesterday,” I said, steering the conversation far, far away from Neil.
After I regaled my story to Dad, he asked, “‘The Tell-Tale Heart’?”
I laughed quietly. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
Pop knew his literature inside and out, especially such a gifted, tortured soul as Edgar Allan Poe. We had him to thank for the modern detective story, Dad would always tell me growing up. He helped to shape science fiction as we know it today and made coded messages popular. Pop could go on and on about American writers and their contributions to literature.
