Evelyn
"We were starting to think you had forgotten about today," my mom says when I go to the house the next day. "I was going to call, but your father decided against it."
"He probably wanted something to hold over my head," I mutter as I walk in, holding a gift bag.
If I hadn't set a reminder, I would have forgotten that today was my dad's birthday. So, I'm not mad that he didn't call me. I'll let him stew in his guilt when he realizes he thought badly of me.
"Darling," my mom calls out, "your daughter is here."
My father's footsteps down the stairs are deliberate, as though he's trying to meet his fitness goals. But it's been like that all my life, and it was the sole reason why every time we attended an event, eyes would turn once we walked in.
That, and my mother's flare for be
