My cell phone buzzed. I pressed the receiver against my ear. “Hey, cunt puddle!”

“They just keep getting better,” Thomas said on the other end of the line, unimpressed.

“Christ on a bicycle, Trenton,” Dad fumed, nodding toward Olive.

I winked at him. Shocking him with my insults had become a sport.

“How are Mom and baby?” I asked.

“We’re headed home,” Thomas replied. “I think … I think we’re going to head that way earlier than expected.”

“Everything okay?” I asked, noting that Dad’s interest was piqued. I waved him away, assuring him nothing was wrong.

“Yeah … yeah. Have you heard from Trav?” Thomas asked.

“No. Why?”

Thomas had been an enigma since I could remember, and the questions only multiplied when he became an adult.

Dad was staring at me, both patiently and impatiently waiting for an explanation. I held up my finger.

“Just curious.”

“You’re going to put a newborn on a plane? I knew you were brave, big brother, but hell.”

“We thought Dad might like to meet her.”

“He would. Dad would love to meet …” My mind drew a blank.

“Stella,” Olive whispered.

“Stella!” I repeated. “Dad would love to meet Stella.” Dad popped me on the back of my head. “Ow! What’d I say?”

“So we’ll be in tomorrow,” Thomas said, ignoring the circus on the other end of the line.

“Tomorrow?” I said, looking at Dad. “That quick, huh?”

“Yeah. Tell Dad not to worry. We’ll get the room ready when we get there.”

“Cami has been keeping the guest room ready. She knew you’d be over some time with the baby. She even got a pack ‘n whatever.”

“She purchased a Pack ‘n Play for Stella? Really?” Thomas asked. “That was nice of her. How is sh … that was nice of her.”

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward. “We’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Tell Dad I love him,” Thomas said.

“Will do, shit pouch.”

Thomas hung up, and I shot Dad a wide grin. The two lines between his eyes deepened.

“I should have spanked you more,” Dad said.

“Yes, you should have.” I looked down at the dominoes. “Well? They’re not going to shuffle themselves.”

I settled on a dining chair, the golden brown leather making fart noises under my jeans. Even though I’d moved out, Camille and I visited Dad at least once a day, usually more. Travis visited when he wasn’t traveling for work. I glanced up at the shelf that ran just below the ceiling, filled with dusty poker memorabilia and signed pictures of our favorite players. A few cobwebs had formed. I need to get up there and dust. Don’t want the old man falling and breaking a hip.

“Cami didn’t say anything about the test today,” Dad said, moving the dominoes around in a circle on the table.

“Yeah,” I said, staring at the white rectangular tiles as they slowly circulated around, under Dad’s hands, moving in and out of the pack. “It’s a monthly thing now. I think she’s tired of talking about it.”

“Understandable,” Dad said. He gave a side-glance to Olive, and I knew he was choosing his next words carefully. “Have you been to the doc?”

“Gross,” Olive said, disgusted despite his efforts. She wasn’t a little girl anymore.

“Not yet. I think she’s afraid to hear it’s something permanent. Honestly, so am I. At least now, we have hope.”

“There’s still hope. Even the worst circumstances have a silver lining. Life isn’t linear, son. Each choice we make or every influence branches off the line we’re currently on, and at the end of that branch is another branch. It’s just a series of blank slates, even after a disaster.”

I peeked up at him. “Is that how you felt after Mom died?”

Olive let out a tiny gasp.

Dad tensed, waiting a moment before speaking. “A while after Mom died. I think we all know I didn’t do much of anything right after.”

I touched his arm, and the tiles stopped spinning. “You did exactly what you could. If I lost Cami …” I trailed off, the thought making me feel sick to my stomach. “I’m not sure how you survived it, Dad, much less got yourself together to raise five boys. And you did, you know. You got yourself together. You are a great dad.”

Dad cleared his throat, and the tiles began turning again. He paused just long enough to wipe a tear from beneath his glasses. “Well, I’m glad. You deserve it. You’re a great son.”

I patted his shoulder, and then we picked our bones from the boneyard and set them on their sides, facing away from each other. I had a shit hand.

“Really, Dad? Really?”

“Oh, quit your whining and play,” he said. He tried to sound stern, but his small grin betrayed him. “Wanna play, Olive?”

Olive shook her head. “No thank you, Papa,” she said, returning her attention to her phone.

“She’s probably playing dominoes on that thing,” Dad teased.

“Poker,” Olive snapped back.

Dad smiled.

I turned to look up at our last family portrait, taken just before Mom found out she was sick. Travis was barely three. “Do you still miss her? I mean … like before?”

“Every day,” he said without hesitation.

“Remember when she used to do the tickle monster?” I asked.

The corners of Dad’s mouth turned up, and then his body began to shake with uncontrollable chuckles. “It was ridiculous. She wasn’t sure if she was an alien or a gorilla.”

“She was both,” I said.

“Chasing all five of you around the house, hunched over like a primate and making her hands into alien suction cups.”

“Then she’d catch us and eat our armpits.”

“Now, that’s love. You boys smelled like rotting carcasses on a good day.”

I laughed out loud. “It was the one time we could jump on the furniture and not get our asses beat.”

Dad scoffed. “She didn’t have to spank you. The look was enough.”

“Oh,” I said, remembering. “The look.” I shivered.