Families and Other Nonreturnable Gifts by Claire LaZebnik Read Free Book Online Page A

glasses way down on his nose, and as he turns to look at us, his eyes are bleary under eyebrows that have recently grown straggly.
    I haven’t seen him for a couple of months, but he looks a lot older to me.
    He swivels toward me in his chair, and I come over and kiss him lightly on the forehead.
    “Keats,” he says, and I wonder which of us is more relieved that he got my name right the first time. When we all lived together, he frequently called the three women of our household interchangeably by any of our three names. “What a lovely surprise.” When he says things like that, they always sound sarcastic, but I think it’s just the way he talks: he actually does seem (mildly) pleased to see me. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”
    “I wanted to check out your new place.”
    He gestures grandly around the room. “A veritable palace, isn’t it?”
    “I like the view.”
    He shrugs and I know I’m right: he couldn’t care less about it.
    “We brought some boxes over from the house,” Jacob says. “Mostly books and papers.”
    “Excellent,” Dad says. “More useless detritus from a misspent life.”
    Jacob doesn’t respond to that, just starts gathering up the dirty plates and half-empty mugs of tea that are scattered everywhere. Dad may have been living here only a few weeks, but his Sedlak slovenliness is already on full display.
    There’s a small sofa near the desk. It’s heaped with books and stacks of papers—and more plates and cups—so I perch on the arm. “How’re you doing, Dad?”
    “As you see.”
    “Are you teaching this semester?”
    “One graduate seminar.”
    “How’s that going?”
    “The way it always goes. My students began the class eager and excited to work with the iconic Professor Sedlak, and then disillusionment sets in. I am not what they expected. I am not Aristotle. I have no interest in their moral development. I teach theories of government and expect them to do the reading on time.” He shrugs. “The disappointment is mutual. They’re not what I was hoping for, either.”
    “Anyone want coffee?” Jacob asks brightly.
    “I do,” I say, jumping up a little too quickly. I follow him as he leaves the office, carefully balancing a tower of dirty dishes between his two hands.
    * * *
    I stand in the doorway of the kitchen and watch Jacob make coffee with the ease of someone who knows where everything is—who probably unpacked and arranged it all himself, come to think of it. “He seems kind of depressed.”
    “Yeah, I know.” He glances over at me as he pours water in the machine. “It’s good you came. He misses you guys, but he’s not the type to express that out loud.”
    “No kidding.”
    “He is who he is, Keats. He’s not a warm and fuzzy guy, and he never will be. But he loves you, and he’s more aware of what’s going on with his kids than you’d think.”
    “How do you know that?”
    He measures out the coffee into the filter. “He asks me about you all the time. He gets worried about things like any father.”
    “What makes him worry about me?”
    “Nothing in particular. Just the usual stuff. You know.”
    “I really don’t. Tell me.” He’s still silent. “Don’t make me threaten another book, Jacob.”
    “It’s just the normal dad stuff. Like ‘Is she happy with her job? Is that guy really right for her?’ That kind of thing.”
    “Normal dad stuff,” I repeat. “So…he also asks if Hopkins is happy with her job? And her boyfriend? Oh, wait, she doesn’t have one. Does he talk about that ? About how she hasn’t had a boyfriend since college and how Milton’s never had a girlfriend or even gone out on a date? Or am I the only one who worries him? Because I’m not as smart as they are?”
    Jacob shakes his head uneasily. “This isn’t a competitive thing, Keats. And I wasn’t quoting him verbatim. I was just trying to convey to you—”
    “Forget it.” I start opening cabinet doors. Inside, they’re