My legs were unsteady when I walked back toward the house.
The vibration sat high and constant. A few guests were still outside. I kept my steps short and took the elevator so I wouldn’t have to pass anyone on the stairs. Anger sat low in my stomach right next to the ache. I still didn’t trust him. I still went.
He was already on the rooftop, sitting in one of the chairs like he had nowhere else to be. He looked up when the doors opened.
“Turn it off,” I said.
He didn’t move. “You don't speak to me like that.”
“You’re not my father. You don’t get to correct me.”
His mouth curved, barely. “No. But you didn’t come up here so your father could put his mouth on you either.”
I stayed where I was. The vibration pulsed once, harder, then cut off. He stood and walked over. When he reached m
