When I first started walking dogs after school, he or Ma would walk with me. For both my safety and the dogs’ as well. After all, a twelve-year-old losing a four-thousand-dollar English golden retriever named Montgomery would likely result in a debilitating family lawsuit.

Gomers, as I called him, was my first charge before his family moved to the suburbs. But even back then, Dad would only circle the park or city blocks with me, preferring it to the adult playground vibes of the dog run.

So the sight of him with an overcoat covering most of his jumpsuit, waiting outside the chain-link fence for me to come out, is a little difficult to process right now. He makes no sign of coming in, apparently waiting for me to be done instead.

“Yup. That’s definitely your dad,” Ming continues.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, leashing up Tumbler.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Ming waves in Dad’s general direction, and Dad returns a sheepish wave that, without taking his hand out of his pocket, is mostly an elbow situation.

“You look exactly alike. And I’m not being racist. It’s just . . . Jeez, Halti. Was your mother’s genetic material just that sticky putty that replicates newspaper ink? He’s like you in a time machine.”

I look back at Dad, who’s now looking self-conscious at the two of us studying him from afar. I don’t see what Ming’s talking about. There’s a resemblance there, sure, people say it—Ma always insists our poops smell the same—but I suppose I’ve always been more concerned with the differences. Dad snores; I don’t. He likes the news on loop in the background and the light above the oven on all night, a sense that the world is spinning. Meanwhile, I like the door shut and all electronics turned off when I sleep. Life on pause for five to seven hours.

Dad always wanted to move me into Columbia, and part of me likewise always wanted to see Dad’s reaction when he moved me into those dorms too.

“I’m a little taller than him,” I note, getting up because there’s no need to put off the inevitable.

Ming gets to his feet and dusts off the wet spring sand from his sneakers. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

“Yeah and . . . y’know . . . thanks.” I shrug. “For being around and all that. Don’t get weird on me.”

Ming beams a grin at me and throws a loose fist into my arm. “I’ll get started on braiding matching Best Friendship bracelets.”

I let out a groan and already know I’ll pay for this in some way that might involve wearing matching sneakers to graduation in a few very short months.

“How did you know where I was?” I ask after a few moments of walking silently and keeping an eye on Tumbler’s greedy little mouth.