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of person who doesn’t let anyone make up her mind for her.”
    The cell phone mom kept within an arm’s length at all times buzzed to attention. For the first time in who knows how long, she clicked ignore. “And what else have you learned about Lucy? Since you’re the expert.”
    Taking my hand back in his, he slid me a smile. “She’s smart, except when she isn’t.”
    Buzzing again, mom lifted the phone to her ear. “What a revelation,” she said to Jude before rising and marching out of the kitchen, offering the party on the other end a clipped greeting followed by a three second long sigh.
    “Sorry,” I mouthed to him.
    “For what?” he said in a low voice. “You can’t control your mom’s actions any more than she can yours.”
    “My,” I said, tugging him forward. One parent down, one more to go. “Aren’t we insightful today?”
    “That’s a term that no one’s ever used to describe me before,” he said, tugging at his beanie so it sat just above his eyebrows. For all the long sleeves, stocking caps, and ass-kicking boots he wore, I was beginning to wonder if he had the circulation of an eighty year old woman.
    “Dad,” I called, tapping his shoulder.
    He didn’t look away from his pots and pans sizzling and boiling on the gas range. “Hello, my Lucy in the sky—”
    “This is Jude,” I interrupted, not wanting Jude to see me even more as the little girl I already felt in his presence.
    Raising a finger, dad gave the lemon butter sauce one final whisk and turned off all the burners. I wasn’t sure how he was able to time an entire meal to the same second, but I was sure this was a phenomenon that skipped a generation when it came to me.
    Turning around, he wiped his hands off on his apron . . .
    Oh God, how had I forgotten the apron? Jude’s eyes bulged, but he recovered so quickly I was certain dad hadn’t even noticed. Not that he would have cared if he did. The apron had been a present from Italy, Rome to be exact, and depicted the sculpture of David in his glory, in all his glory, hanging down in anatomically correct places.
    “Hey, Jude,” Dad greeted, looking quite pleased with the whole transaction.
    “Mr. Larson,” Jude greeted, extending his hand. “Nice apron.”
    Shuffling the spatula into his other hand, dad shook Jude’s. “I like you already,” he said, wiping a streak of flour from his cheek. “Great name, exquisite taste in culinary attire,” he continued, before looking down where Jude’s hand still enveloped mine. “And you like my daughter. You’re a smart man, Jude.” Winking, dad spun back towards the stove, unleashing a whisking, flipping, and stirring frenzy.
    “It’s not hard to recognize something special when life’s thrown a lotta shit your way,” Jude said.
    “I’ll raise my hands to the sky at that,” dad said while I worked on confirming my feet were planted to the ground. Something about the way his eyes went all soft when he looked at me and said special was doing a job on me. “Lucy in the sky,” he said, over his shoulder. “Why don’t you forward the disc a few tracks and we’ll play Jude here his Beatles theme song?”
    “No,” Jude said abruptly. Dad and I both paused, looking over at him. “My mom worshipped the Beatles, hence the name,” he said, the tension gone from his voice. “I’ve heard that song enough times to last three lifetimes.”
    Dad studied Jude awhile longer before shrugging. “Well, I won’t torture you with it any more, then,” he said. “But it’s a great song to be named after. Possibly the second best,” looking over at me, he smiled, “right after Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”
    “It’s a song about letting drugs mask the pain of life,” Jude said. “I think mom was still loopy from delivering me when she named me.”
    Dad studied Jude again, like he was trying to put his finger on something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It’s also a song about love,” he said, “and