My dad’s legs were crossed, one knee up on the coffee shop’s table, and he flipped through the Wall Street Journal, serene among the caffeinated chatter of the drugged-up patrons, all sipping hastily from paper cups.

“Well, we didn’t see that one coming, Henry, I’ll be honest with you.” He scratched his neck, but he kept this coy smirk on the whole time, like he just got burned by some girl he was chasing, which he did, in a way.

“Are we gonna be okay, dad?”

“Not really. Not in the way you mean. We’ll be okay though.”

“Okay.”