I fall through the ceiling and Dad catches my body. He tips me onto my open bed. He reaches between his legs, pulls up a stool, then smooths the duvet over me.
‘I have you, hon. You’re okay.’
We’re in my bedroom. My robopup is in the corner; my Shirin Ebadi and Beyoncé posters are where they should be. There’s a cup of sparkling water by my bed and a brown ring under my coffee cup. God… this is real.
‘I’m sorry for my weakness, honeykitten. You have no idea what it was like out there.’
I sit up and throw the covers off, swinging my feet onto the floor. ‘How do I know you’re you?’
‘A worthy question.’ He folds one leg over the other. It’s a girly habit he’s always had. He licks his moustache and picks a tiny booger from his nose and inspects it like a bug specimen.
Okay, I’m certain I
