The appliances were supposed to have been delivered at nine in the morning. What had the pest done to him? Amanda heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs to her parents’ house. Finally! She rushed to get the front door. Her dad stood at the opening, key in hand. “So?” she asked. “Amanda.” He nodded in greeting. “Didn’t know you’d be here. Are you staying for lunch?” “No, thanks. Not really hungry.” Her stomach was a knot. “Tell me what happened, please. Has he packed yet? Where did the kitchen stuff go?” Her body still blocking the entrance, she searched her father’s face for answers. He looked a little flushed, his graying hair messier than usual, his eyes—a lighter shade of green than hers—a little unfocused. He cleared his throat. “May I please come into my own house and kick my shoes off before the interrogation commences?” Amanda stepped aside for him to enter but began raining questions on him once more, as soon as he sat in his favorite armchair.
