when i was younger
i saw my daddy cry
and curse at the wind
he broke his own heart
and i watched
as he tried to reassemble it
"the only exception" paramore

.

.

.

the envelopes came twice a week, and they always ended up in the trash—unopened. hana knew because they poked out of the lid each time, crinkled and stained with whatever papa cooked for dinner the night before. as he always did, he would contemplate the neat script of his name with pressed lips. and she'd watch, crinkling the hem of her skirt in her palms, as he buried it beneath layers of junk mail and cheese wrappers.

in the light, his eyes always looked a little bit brighter, like windowpanes in the summer rain.

her weekends belonged to papa more often than not, and he enjoyed living in small spaces. his apartment was no bigger than mama's living room and kitchen combined, with half as many windows and twice as many bookshelves. there were all kinds of stories on those shelves; thrillers and mysteries and—papa's favorites—romances. she left those alone, for the most part. the orange covers were eye-catching, but she'd always been told not to touch.

even if he always kept one in his back pocket.

like most of his things, they seemed to hold a special place in his heart. his home was filled to the brim with mementos. but mama always likened it to a graveyard; a memorial to lives lost and hana could never understand why she sounded so defeated when she said papa was living with ghosts.

"hanako, come here." he called her, palm down and fingers beckoning in a slight wave. no sooner than her first step within his arm's reach, long fingers threaded through her hair, ruffling pearly strands. hana observed as he closed the book resting in his other hand and tucked it neatly into his pocket; there, it peeked out at her.

the man cleared his throat, and she glanced upward. as long as she could remember, papa had been tall—gray-headed, despite his half-hearted insistence that he wasn't very old at all.

"what do you want to do now?" he asked her, fussing over stray bits that wouldn't stick behind her ears before scooping her up into his arms. his question, tucked between one affectionate kiss to her temple and the next, kept her silent for a moment, thoughtfully pushing her thumbs together.

"I don't know."

her attention fluttered from one book to the next; stuck on words that seemed too long, lining thick spines—some looked like missing pieces from mama's medical collections. she hesitated. "are those mama's books?"

he seemed to stop then, fingers pausing to curl around her upper arm. "yes, baby. she left them here. she's coming to pick you up later today, you know?"

the reminder came with a soft sway, as he began to rock on his heels. she nodded, sniffling lightly and allowing her eyes to close against the sudden weight of her lids; with papa's warmth came a certain kind of comfort—her fingers folded into his shirt, holding tight.

"for when she stays over?" she began to hum, ignoring his change of subject as five-year-olds were prone to do. stubbornly, she plucked at kinks in his knit sweater, waiting for his answer.

after a minute of silence, he sighed. she could feel him, resting his cheek against the top of her head—"we need to get ready for you to go."

she shook her head, lower lip pushed into a pout. with a chuckle—soft, gracious—he shifted her in his grasp and made a steady path for his bedroom. there, he laid her on his sheets and tucked her beneath a worn duvet. hana watched him sit on the edge through half-lidded eyes, curling into a ball beneath his steady gaze. "are you going to come and live with us?"

he stared at her, until hana was certain he'd never answer; that maybe he hadn't heard her, or she'd been so so wrong to ask. the tell-tale knot in her throat made it too hard to say anything else, so she stared back.

speechless.

finally, papa spoke; running his hand through his hair—as if by sorting the wayward locks, he'd sort his thoughts as well.

or at least, that's what mama always said.

"maybe, sweetheart."

but papa got quieter when he didn't believe the things he said. she released a soft sigh and willed her eyes closed; twisting the covers in her grasp, all the while. far from a dull little girl, hana knew what it meant when they lied.

mama did the same.