“Six “THE FILET MIGNON FOR Callie May; I’ll have the rib eye.” My dad orders for me at our favorite restaurant downtown, where the staff all know us. Soft candlelight flickers on the clean, white-tiled walls, casting shadows in the antique mirrors and on the industrial-steel tables and chairs. This place is a mix of old and new, the past and the present coming together in a modern southern steakhouse. I love it here. We’re having a celebratory father-daughter dinner—it’s the first time we’ve bee...n out since the accident. Dad smiles at me as he tucks his napkin into his collar, a country-boy habit Mama never could break him of. I grin back and smooth the white linen napkin over my lap. “How are you feeling?” he asks me. “Good,” I say, nodding as if to affirm it. “Really good.” Dad clears his throat. “I’m glad,” he says. The waiter brings over a basket of bread, still warm, with soft butter on the side. I lean forward to take a roll. “I want us to be honest with each other,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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