Chloe's father, it's one of those things we never talk about because we don't really have to. Everything's already been said through the little gestures, how she won't take his calls and the way she falls asleep leaning against my shoulder in a taxi going nowhere at 3 am after seeing him on 7th Avenue.
It still hurts her but you can trace the contours of whatever stereotype you like, none of them are true. I know what I saw when we were little, how he was never around, but it's like she told me one night in the attic bedroom of the summer house years ago: "At least I have a father".
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