My father can no longer tie his laces.
“It makes me crazy,” he grumbles. “That mess with those hands.”
I kneel for him. Not for the first time, not for the last time. His shoes wiggle a little while I make the loops.
“So!” I say lightly. “A double knot, then it stays.”
He looks at my head, is silent for a moment, and then strokes my hair with an unsteadable hand.
“I used to do that with you.”
We laugh. And swallow.
It’s nothing. And it’s all.
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