“Mind if I sit, Dad?”
The old man nodded without looking up from his lemonade. By sending his son rather than either daughter, the family was sending a message. “I’m not ready,” he muttered.
The son sat at the other end of the small rectangular diner table. Condiments were arranged at that end as if the son were about to have a meal of ketchup, salt, and pepper. “Time to come home,” he said.
“I just ordered dinner.”
“We’ll do carry-out.”
“I’ll never sign.” The old man looked up. “Never.”
“No documents tonight, Dad. But we need you home.”
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly flash fiction challenge.