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He was unhappy, and for the first time in his life, that unhappiness did not seem entirely necessary.
He smiled because he was not sure how to meet someone’s sympathy for him.
He didn’t know what to feel, and so he tried not to feel anything. It seemed more honest that way. A real feeling.
Yes, it was his father. He knew that. But the trouble with these people, with his friends, with the world, was that they thought things had to be a certain way with family. They thought you had to feel something for them, and it had to be the same thing that everyone felt or else you were doing it wrong.
