Dad said, Come over honey, I'll cook steaks. He had a new roommate again. Dad put on "In the Mood" and readied the skillet. Ed was short and skinny like Dad, but had more hair. Want to dance? I didn't say, Not really. My palms pushed me up but my bare thighs ripped against the plastic couch, trying to stay. My eyes followed a window edge to where it disappeared behind the curtain and Ed's hand pressed my back. His shoes bumped mine. I looked sideways to Dad in the lighted kitchen. He held a knife, a towel, and smiled.
Susan Nordmark’s writing appears in Michigan Quarterly Review, New World Writing Quarterly, Tupelo Quarterly, The Los Angeles Review, and many other journals. She lives in Oakland, California. Find Susan on Facebook and on Twitter @SusanNordmark.