“We’ll move to our house after you graduate next year, okay?”

“Okay.” We had been discussing this for a while now.

“But I’m afraid you might get lonely.”

“Lonely?” I echoed, like the word was too unfamiliar to me, when in fact I had become really acquainted to it.

He nodded.

“Lonely?” I said again, trying to inject more incredulity in my voice.

Again, he nodded.

“Nah, I won’t get lonely.”

“It’s just,” my dad said, “when we move out of grandma’s house, you’ll be at home alone most of the time. I’m afraid you might turn into a hermit, or something weird like that.”

Clearly, he doesn’t know he transformation’s nearly complete.

“Nah, that won’t happen. By the time we move to our house, I’d be working. I’d have colleagues. I’d have a social life.”

Reassurances are promises without the finger-locking.


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