Free Broken by Alina Man

tired of our company and goes to her room to play.  “To answer your question, you’re right.  She’s pretty good.” I watch him with fascination. It’s like there is a new light cast upon him and now I can finally see him clearly.  He’s is such an amazing father, a quality not many men possess.  Losing his wife had to be devastating, and, unlike me, he had to find the strength to live again for his precious girl.  Unlike me, he didn’t have the luxury to hide in a hole and mourn.   “Why are you so quiet?” he finally asks.
    “Nothing, I’m just enjoying this,” I say and look around the kitchen.
    “What?  The mess?”
    “Sure, that too.  So tell me about yourself.”  I’m suddenly curious to know everything.  His likes and dislikes, what makes him nervous or happy.  Because for some unknown reason, I want to see him happy.
    “What would you like to know?” he asks, stabbing a piece of bacon with his fork and putting it into his mouth.  I watch it disappear behind those amazing lips, making my mouth water.
    “Everything.” I swallow hard and try to concentrate on something else rather than his mouth.  Too dangerous.
    “Ok, let’s see.  My father was stationed in Korea and that’s where he met my mom.  He tells everyone that he was instantly in love and knew right away that he was going to marry her.  My mom was not too keen on making the move to the States.  Her English was not that good and she had a very large family that she was really close to.  In the end, love won and she follow my dad here.  Two years later they had me and the rest is, as they say, pretty much history.”  He starts cleaning our plates and I, in spite of his refusal, I start helping out.  It’s as if we’ve done this hundreds of times, him loading the dishwasher, me clearing the table.  The place is getting back to normal, with only the stove needing a scrub.  He’s already working on that, when the stack of papers catches my eye.  There are drawings, cartoonish characters, and even to my novice eye, I can tell they are professionally done.  Whoever the artist is, he’s very good.  I flip through them and right smack down in the middle I find a portrait.  It’s a woman’s face and she looks very much like me. I clear my throat to get his attention.   His eyes move from me to the drawing and back, and I can tell he’s not sure what I’m thinking.
    “Oh shit. I can explain.” 
    “Is this me?”
    “Yes.  I-”
    “It’s very good.  Is this like a hobby of yours?”  He laughs nervously and wipes his hands on the kitchen towel. 
    “It’s my job actually.  I’m a cartoonist.”  He comes next to me and starts showing me the projects he’s been working on.  They are really amazing, and I can tell he loves what he’s doing.  His love and devotion show in his work.  Do I love writing?  Does it show in my stories? “My wife, when we first got married, she used to make fun of me when I told her I was going to draw for a living.  It turned out I had a knack for it, and there were several entertaining companies that were interested in contacting me.  Plus it gives me the freedom to be with Lily.”  He places each drawing back into the folder and we move back to the kitchen table to finish out coffees. 
    “How is it that you talk about her with such ease?” I don’t dare to look at him as I ask him this.  I’m not even sure why I asked.  Curiosity gets the best of me sometimes and if I’m being honest, I want to find out if there’s some secret that I don’t know about that helps you move out of the mourning stage. 
    “I don’t know, Jenny.  She was my wife and I loved her very much.  I always will.  But I know she wouldn’t want me to be stuck in the past.  Just like if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t want her to be unhappy either.”  I repeat his words in my head over and over and they make sense.  I’m smart enough to know what he means.  But