Laura
My father had been living in a luxury hotel suite for so long that apparently he had forgotten how moving worked.
I stood in the middle of his bedroom staring at three open suitcases, two cardboard boxes, and an entire pile of clothes still hanging in the closet.
“You know you’re leaving tomorrow, right?”
Dad glanced up from the chair where he was attempting to wrap an old framed photograph in one of the hotel’s bath towels.
“I know.”
“Then why does it look like you’ve packed for a weekend?”
“Because most of this stuff isn’t mine.”
I looked around.
“You’ve lived here for over a year.”
“Doesn’t mean I own the furniture.”
“I meant your clothes.”
“I’ve got plenty of time.”
“You leave at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Exactly.”
I sighed.
Behind me, Evan came running out of the
