Henry flitted nervously around the kitchen, at a complete loss. He fiddled with the fraying edges of his forest green apron emblazoned with the words “Hi Hungry, I’m Dad” in white block letters that he wore over a pale blue button-down shirt with jeans. Kimberly had given him the apron for Father’s Day last year, and she insisted that he wear it whenever he was in the kitchen.
The dishes were washed. The spaghetti and salad he’d prepared for dinner were warm on the stovetop and chilling in the refrigerator respectfully. Henry had scrubbed the quartz countertops and the matching kitchen island until they sparkled. The tiles of the navy backsplash gleamed due to his thorough cleaning. Henry had half a mind to grab a mop and really go to town on the wood flooring beneath his feet, but he tho
