“It’s 6:05,” Mom notes aloud, remarking upon their absence. “Any sign of them yet?”
“Nope.” Unless Dad somehow got lost finding the house he’s lived in for the past two decades. I spot a car rolling into the driveway not long after. “Mom, they’re here!” I announce and skip off to the door.
Tappada-tappada-tappada, tap tap.
I contemplate the door.
Tap tap, tap?
“Hi, Dad,” I drawl, a grin across my face as I open the door to a 192 cm Black Canadian man with a cheeky smile.
“Knock, knock.”
“Marshall, stop goofing around and get inside!” shouts Mom from somewhere in the back.
Dad chuckles, shrugs, and then makes his way past me. Behind him is my sister. Tiffany is a few centimetres shorter, a few inches wider, and has our mother’s smile, she trying to stifle her laughter.
Wordlessly,
