Conversion by Katherine Howe Read Free Book Online

asked, eager to get back to World of Warcraft.
    “Sure, go ahead. But don’t forget you’ve got dish duty tonight. You think you might want to study physics, Colleen? It’s a great field.”
    Nah . . . J just invited you
    Crap.
    “Honey?”
    Not listening, I typed out:
    9 is kind of late
    “Colleen?”
    PLEEEEEASE!
    “Dammit!”
    A fork clattered onto a plate and then my mother was standing behind my chair.
    “Give it to me,” she said, her hand thrust out.
    “Mom,” I started to protest, but my father spoke over me.
    “Come on, Linda,” he said.
    “Five minutes! It’s all I ask!” My mother’s voice rose while she waited for me to surrender my phone.
    I was clenching my fingers around it inside my pocket and glaring at her. Inside my palm the phone vibrated again.
    My father sighed and rubbed his fingertips over his eyebrows and under his glasses. He spoke from behind his hands.
    “Colleen,” he said. “Next time, we’ll leave the phone in your room, okay?”
    “I meant to this time,” I lied. “I just forgot.”
    My mother stalked back into the kitchen, muttering “Forgot!” to the invisible committee to whom she liked to refer my family’s crimes. The swinging door
whooshed
closed, and sounds of running water and disapproving dishes let me know in no uncertain terms where I stood this particular Saturday evening.
    My father’s eyes followed her out of the breakfast nook and then hung out for a while on the kitchen door before making their way back to me. He sighed with world-weary resignation. I could tell we were done talking about physics.
    “So,” he said. “What’ve you got on for tonight, Colliewog?”
    My father was subject to fits of nostalgia, but he wasn’t a fool.
    “Anjali wants me to meet her and Jason in Harvard Square,” I said. It was hard for me to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
    “Jason Rothstein?” my father said. He leaned back in his chair and toyed with his beer bottle, lifting it and setting it down in a different spot to make a lattice of water circles on the tabletop. “They’re still an item, eh?”
    I laughed. Nobody says “they’re an item” except parents.
    “They are,” I confirmed.
    Dad made more bottle-circle prints until the pattern resolved into a flower. He reached over with a meditative thumb and smeared a stem.
    “Anyone else going?” he asked.
    “Some friend of Jason’s. Some yo-boy who thinks saying ‘all up in here’ is standard speech filler that normal people use in regular everyday conversation.”
    I thought my father smirked, but he wisely kept any further commentary to himself.
    “What time will you be back?”
    “I dunno. Not late.”
    Dad nodded, and picked up his beer bottle. He tipped it to the side, weighing it in his hand, and found it empty. We both sat there for another minute, listening to the water in the kitchen sink shut off with a smack and the tinkle of glassware being taken out of the dishwasher and forcefully put away.
    “It’s just ’cause she’s going to miss you next year,” he said without looking too closely at me.
    My cheeks flushed pink.
    “I know,” I said.
    My right finger and thumb pulled my napkin through my left finger and thumb, ironing it out in a slowly revolving circle.
    Dad crossed his ankle over his knee.
    “Well,” he said, “have a good time. Call if you need anything. Or if your plans change. Long as we know where you are.”
    “Okay,” I said, getting to my feet. I picked up my plate and made to carry it into the kitchen, but Dad arched an eyebrow at me, looked pointedly at the kitchen door, and then shook his head. I lowered the plate back to the breakfast table and smiled at him. He smiled back.
    “Frankly,” he said, “I like that you’re glued to that goddamn phone. You show me one father who isn’t happy to know he can always reach his daughter no matter what.”
    I grinned, kissed him on the cheek, and scurried back to my room to get ready. I peered at my face,