Elvis
"A plaything?"
Donald asked the question with the kind of straight face that suggested he genuinely expected an answer.
A slow breath escaped through my nose.
"Finish your food."
That only made the grin spread wider across his face.
"I knew it."
"You know nothing."
"I know you've been behaving strangely, Dad." He leaned back in his chair, satisfied with himself. "First, the body paint. Now you're smiling at random moments. This is exactly how these things start."
I reached for my wine and said nothing.
"Donald."
"Yes, Dad?"
"You're annoying."
He laughed while hitting his chest.
For a moment, it dragged me back to when he was younger, before life found its way into the cracks of our once-happy family and made a home there.
He took a sip of wine, and when he looked at me
