Dinner with her father and Mark had been a success. The two men had bonded over their mutual love of roast chicken, and mashed potatoes and gravy — the perfect Sunday meal. Since she’d served dinner late and they’d lingered over fat slices of chocolate cake — her dad’s favorite — the sun had already gone down. She filled the sink with hot, soapy water in preparation for washing the dishes. Her dad didn’t believe in spending money on things he really didn’t need. That meant they didn’t have a dishwasher or a garbage disposal, which also meant, she ended up doing the dishes by hand and composting. As she scrubbed a fork, she listened as the two men in her life wrapped up their conversation with sports stats and gossip about radio personalities. After a round of vibrant laughter, Mark said, “So, Mr. Attler, am I the kind of guy you’d be happy with dating your daughter?” She held her breath, barely moving her hands beneath the suds.
