I went.
His sprawling suburban backyard was packed with forty guests beneath strings of fairy lights.
A bouncy castle filled one side of the lawn.
Caterers carried shrimp cocktails on silver trays.
And at the center stood Dad, performing the benevolent grandfather.
He laughed too loudly.
He poured expensive Merlot for relatives who worshipped him.
He wrapped an arm around Lauren for a photograph and squeezed her shoulder while she smiled on command.
I stood near the fence with a glass of water I never drank.
I counted heads.
Catalogued exits.
Noted which relatives avoided my eyes and which had clearly heard Dad’s version of reality.
When everyone moved to the patio for cake, I slipped into the kitchen for a refill.
The door swung shut behind me.
Dad was standing there alone.
The grandfather mask was already gone.
What remained was cold and reptilian.
He moved into my personal space, backing me against the marble counter.
