Father's day

Tom had been a father. 
Four times, between 1965 and 1972.

Technically he still was. 
But none of them had called him. Or even texted. 

No sign of life.

He wasn't bitter, oh no. That was the way things were meant to be. They were all busy with their own children. Everything else had ceased to exist since they all had had children. 

He wasn't bitter. He was just feeling a bit sad. 

He got himself an ice cream cone in Teddy's. 
And watched the bay for a little while. 

He just caught a glimpse of the warm tear as it mingled with the cold ice cream and the bright red strawberry syrup. 

He licked all three absentmindedly. 

Maybe they would call later. 
It was only half past four. 



Elsewhere in the Raheny compound, the little Rahenies decided that Chinese dumplings would be a perfect Father's day treat.
The fact that I am the only one who can prepare and cook them, and the fact that it takes an hour and a half didn't seem to trouble them too much.
They were delicious, since you're asking.