every night Rooster’s eyes grew just a little warmer—if not confused—as he’d shyly send me home with a warm Tupperware full of dinner. I’d sit alone at my dining room table with Barb’s head on my knee and I’d think…damn. Maybe one day, if I proved myself hard enough, I’d get invited to sit at their table with them. Maybe they’d realize they need me. No one had ever needed me before. A man could dream.
