Not « How are you? »
Not even « You look well. »
« Pack what you need. »
He stood outside my apartment with both hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, looking older than the last photograph I had of him and exactly as stubborn as I remembered.
I stared at him.
« Dad, you drove four hours to tell me to pack? »
« I drove four hours because somebody had to come get you. »
« Dad, you drove four hours to tell me to pack? »
« Get me from what? »
His eyes flicked past me toward the apartment.
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