This story appeared in Northwest Review, Volume 39, Number 2, 2001.
But our contractor says, “Jerry, please.”
And of course I say yes, because I don’t know why.
Maybe I’ve gotten soft. When my child says to me, “Daddy, come on, come on,” I say, “Yes,” because it’s like revenge. Plus, my daughter’s happy. Great.
But not with our contractor. Our contractor’s no baby. He’s six foot two, redoing our new apartment at lightning speed. And he’s talking to me as if I were a child. “Jerry?”
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