the chair

june 30, 2026

“No, no - Tuesday. Today’s Tuesday.”

“Mm-hm.”

“…yeah. I know. He told me, too.”

“Well, that’s because he was on a different floor. You’d think he’d have figured it out by then. He didn’t?”

[laugh]

“Oh god. Oh god, no, that’s exactly what he would do.”

“Yeah. With the, the - yeah. Uh-huh.”

“No, I think you’re remembering it wrong, mom. It was Greg’s birthday. The pavilion was for Greg.”

“Yeah.”

“…no, it’s fine, you’re fine. I don’t remember either, half the time. Yesterday I drove all the way to the post office and then sat in the lot for twenty minutes wondering what I came for. So.”

“Yeah.”

[silence]

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“How is - did you eat lunch yet?”

“They brought it? What’d they bring?”

“Mm. I’d eat that. That sounds nice, actually.”

“No, I’m at home. I’m in the den. Yeah, the old chair.”

“It is, isn’t it. It’s the chair that won.”

[laugh]

“It’s outlasted everything. Every chair we bought to replace it, and then it just sits there while the new one breaks first. I don’t get it either.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Yeah.”

“…mom, I asked the nurse, she said the rash is gone. So that’s good. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“I know. I know. But the nurse said it was gone. So it’s gone.”

[silence]

“Mom?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I was just listening.”

“…”

“…no. No, dad’s not here.”

“He’s - mom. Dad died. In the spring. Remember? The spring.”

[silence]

“I know. I know it does. Every time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“…okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow. I’ll call tomorrow, same time.”

“Eat your soup, okay?”

[laugh]

“…okay. Bye, mom. Love you.”