Ghosted

by J.M. Darhower

I can barely hear his voice. He stares at her like he’s committing her face to memory, like he fears this may be the only time he ever sees it.

“So be a father, not a paycheck.”

She shakes her head, but it’s not a denial. It’s more exasperation that I have the nerve to ask her that question.

“Yeah? You think I’m as talented as…” You glance down, to the nearest star by your feet, reading the name on it. “…Kermit the Frog?”