f*****g for God
“Why didn’t you order sprinkles?” Dad asks. We’re sitting in the back of the ice cream parlor, wearing ballcaps and sunglasses, trying not to be seen. Dad picked me up in Aunt Zelda’s car to foil the media. He took a few twists and turns through Fairfax while singing the James Bond theme. I’m pretty sure the guy sitting in the front window, in a tight polo and khakis, is a tail of some kind.
I swirl the half-melted ice cream around the bottom of my cup. Dad’s made his choice, I remind myself, as he bites into his chocolate-dipped cone.
“You love sprinkles. When you were in first grade, your favorite was rainbow sherbet with extra sprinkles. Do you remember?”
I bite my cheek to keep the tears away. “Dad, when’s the last time you saw a doctor?”
Dad puts a hand on my shou
