Chapter 27: House-sitting

I gently stroked her belly. The way she did it was uncharacteristically tender—surprisingly graceful for someone as normally rough-edged as she was. And yet, it suited her oddly well. Men will never win against women, I thought. That expression on her face made me believe it. Then, she said to me: “Hey, Papa. I want something sour.” “…Who are you calling Papa?” You reproduced asexually. That thing in your belly has nothing to do with me. “So you’re not even going to…