February was the worst month of the year—the shortest but the most brutal. I had previously avoided invites to New Year’s Eve parties and subsequent dinners. I hadn’t been to the gym for over a month and missed Luke.
My phone made its bizarre sound showing a call from my daughter. Steeling my nerve, I answered.
“Don’t start on me with sarcasm. I’ve got my eyes glared so you ought to know I mean business.” I shook my head at my madness.
“Happy New Year, Daddy. Bruce wants to know when you might grace the gym with your presence again.”
I said, “I’m still glaring, and that comment sounded sarcastic.” It was nice to hear her voice.
“Yeah, the glare, I’m frozen in my tracks. Now, before I turn my glare on you, where in hell have you been for the last five weeks? And don’t hand me any bulls
