He held up the card. « These. Every year. Is this one of your weird mom things? »
« I am offended you think I have this level of consistency. »
He did not laugh right away. He looked back at the card, then said quietly, « Could it be my dad? »
That hit me harder.
Adrian’s father was not some great lost love. He was not a tragic figure who got torn away by circumstances. He was a man who disappeared the second responsibility looked less fun than freedom.
He never met Adrian. Never sent a gift. Never asked for a picture. There were years when I was not even sure he remembered I existed, much less that he had a son.
So I answered the way I always did when that subject came too close.
« Sweetheart, your dad does not know where we live. »
Adrian’s face fell a little, and I hated myself for how fast I kept going.
« And even if he did, I’m not exactly betting on him becoming Father of the Year through anonymous stationery. »
