I step into my father's office for the first time in my life. It's a cold lifeless room that's all wood and hard edges. There is one small leather couch but even that doesn't look comfortable.
"Take a seat," he says, when I'm taking too long, standing in the entrance.
We are on either side of his desk and I swear his seat is higher than mine. I feel like I'm five.
"How have you been adjusting?" He asks like this is an interview.
"Fine, I think, all things considered," I respond, business-like as well.
"Your mother says you have taken on the Christmas planning with real energy. She's pleased with your performance thus far."
This is the worst time ever to get the giggles, but my father is speaking so formally he sounds like he's from another century. I reign in my smile and try to tak
