“Nothing yet,” I answer lowly, not bothering to hide my disappointment, and then look back at the phone, wishing it would go off.

“You going back home to talk?  Or what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him.  “I know she wants space; I just don’t know if it’s what’s best.”

From my periphery, I watch him nod and then he says, “It’s hard to know.  Especially when she’s not talking to you.”

“I wouldn’t talk to me either,” I say, mostly out of the need to defend her.  “I’d have kicked me out too.”

“It was a long time ago,” my father says, but there’s hardly any conviction in his voice.

It’s quiet for longer than I’d like.  Both of us not knowing where to go in the conversation.

“I remember when you moved in with her,” Pops finally says and breaks the silence.

“It feels like forever ago.  I hardly even remember what it was like before her.”

“Feels like it just happened to me.  All the boxes and her wanting to paint first and then wanting everything in a specific order.  She sure has a certain way of going about things.”

I lean my head back, staring at the ceiling fan as I say, “Yeah she does” with a hint of a smile on my lips.  “She’s particular.”

“That’s one word for it,” Pops says back with a small laugh, the kind where I can feel his smile in the laugh, not missing a beat.

“You love her, though. Particular and all,” I remind him.

He nods his head.  “I love her for it too.”  He clears his throat and says, “I never told you this, but I felt like I’d lost your mother and then lost you.”

“Pops, no—” I try to stop that shit, but he’s already moved on before I can get a thought out.

“It was a short-lived feeling.  Kat came over more than you did after the move, if you remember.”

“She’s the one who wanted the family dinners.  I remember her pushing for that. Probably wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for her.”

“I think she was just trying to make things right.”

“I know she was.  She’s a lot like your mother in that regard.  You did good picking her.”

I can’t respond to my father.  He’s never talked to me about Kat really.  Now of all times, it’s just making the pain that much worse.

“You remember that heavy-ass dresser?” Pops asks me and it makes me huff a laugh as I nod.  More than anything I’m thankful for the change in topic.

“She had to have it,” I say absently.  “It was her mother’s.”

“Oh, I know.  I remember her telling me a dozen times.”

“She kept talking about the movers.”  I shake my head.  “We didn’t need any movers.”