Hard Eggs Scrambled Soft

Chapter Soundtrack:  "Riverside" by Agnes Obel

My dad scrolls through reels on his cell phone like water drips from a leaking faucet.

I try to tune out the sound, but it’s all I can hear, all I can focus on.

My mind feels scrambled like the eggs I cook him for breakfast. He likes them soft but not too soft.

His eggs hold my focus long enough to avoid his criticism but just barely.

“The eggs look good today,” he says. “The toast is dried out.”

The toast is dried out because my dad wants me to cook it in a little oven that's not a toaster.

He boasts about the oven like it can do no wrong, but every morning it’s the same.

“How long did you cook it for?” he asks.

“I pushed the toast button once like you told me to,” I say.

He pauses to reflect like I'd said something unbelievable before returning to his meal.

He sighs, a listless whisk beating through eggs that would have been perfect except for the toast.

A video he's watching loops on repeat. I wish I could focus, but my mind is stuck on the wrong side of being right.