“How long have you known?” he asked.
She twiddled her espresso cup, swirling the remaining grounds as if they’d divine something better than the true answer to his question.
“How long have you known, Janie?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a day. Maybe a year.”
He rubbed his eyes, bloodshot and still lined with purple eyeliner.
“I’m sorry.”
He tried to take her hand, but she slid hers off the table and onto her la.
“I still love you, Dad, but tell Mom already.”
She stood up and gathered her things.
“Oh and Dad? Ditch the purple. It’s kind of tacky.”
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