I look down into my plate

then at her hand sketching on the napkin.

For once, I wish she would stop sketching.

Stop,        I say, loud.

The man at the next table looks

up from his book.

She leans in, holds my hands

like I’m a little boy.

Mom, I groan, stop.

It’s okay, Ari, she tries to soothe me.

Expression is everything.

I shake her hands off me,

stand up,

throw down my napkin,

my hands balled into fists.

In this moment

more than any other time,

I want my father.

I want HIM to explain this to me,

what it means to sell a business,

to leave your family.

I want concrete rules,

like D&D rules.

Roll this die and 16–20

is a hit.

Ari, she says, tries to calm me,

and I feel the people

in the restaurant looking.

I walk toward the door.

I want to rip the menus off the wall.

I want to feel ocean water on my face.

I want to be someplace quiet,

reading Mysterious World.

I want my father.

Where is he?

Does he care that she’s selling the business?

How can he let all this happen?

Where was he when I was on the bike path?

I want him to know

that the time he told me about,

when he was a kid

and they called him Jewboy,

happened to me too.

I want to tell him

that I still

watch our

old shows on Netflix.

I want to tell him

that I went to see the rabbi

all by myself.

I sit down outside

on a bench near

the restaurant window.

When my mother comes,

she looks embarrassed, tired,

but she sits down on the bench

close to me.

It’s then that I feel tears.

I can’t stop them.

I think about how maybe

my father was the heaviest

part of me.

And now that he has drained

away, I feel less than who I am.

She pulls me

by my elbow

up and onto my feet.

I don’t fight it.

When we reach our apartment

she puts her hand on my head.

Do you have your keys?

My breathing is slow now. Normal.

It’s going to be okay, Ari.

I turn up the stairs.

I’ll see you tonight!

Hey, why don’t you call Lisa again?

See if she wants us to pick her up?

Okay, I say.

Mom? I say.

She turns.

She is looking toward the corner,

toward the buses speeding

off into the city.

Yes?

I want

to talk

to Dad.

She looks down.

I know, she says. I know.

Calling My Father

I call Lisa

to let her know

about Sunday,

but there’s still no answer.

I hang up, but my hand stays on the phone,

and in that moment,

I decide to call my father.

Why shouldn’t I?

I am nervous to call him

so I grab Mysterious World,