be.
But the story doesn’t end there.
At the reception, my dad keeps his distance. He nurses a scotch by the bar, his face unreadable. I dance with Jason, I laugh with friends, but I keep watching my dad out of the corner of my eye.
Finally, after the cake is cut and the bouquet is tossed, I walk over to him.
“Dad.”
He doesn’t look at me.
“You could’ve said
