ELOWEN
Saturday dinner with my parents was... surprisingly normal.
We arrived at six, as promised. My mother had made prime rib — Fao's eyes lit up at the smell of meat — and my father had actually opened the good wine, which was his version of rolling out the red carpet.
"Fao." My father shook his hand at the door. "Good to see you again."
"Sir." Fao's grip was firm but careful. He'd gotten better at these dinners over the past few weeks — learned which fork to use, how to pace himself through courses, when to laugh at my father's terrible jokes.
"Come in, come in. Margaret's outdone herself tonight."
She had. By the time we finished the main course, Fao had eaten three servings of prime rib, two helpings of roasted potatoes, and an entire basket of dinner rolls. My mother watched h
