Tooth loss, Dad loss

"Hey Dad, you called?"
"Hi Joey! Yeah, I just called."
"Yeah? So what's up?"
"Well I was wondering what you're doing tomorrow," he said hopefully.
"Umm, well I have choir. Where are you?"
"Still in Milford. I lost that contract..."
"The one you were working on for a week?"
"Yep, that's the one."
"Awww... Dad, that sucks. I'm really sorry to hear that..."
"Yeah, I did suck."
"... umm. It's the first one you've lost, right?"
"Wanna hear something funny?"
"... sure..."
"I lost a tooth."
"What?"
"Yeah, I lost a tooth. Right in the front. I look like a jack-o-lantern."
"What??"
"I bit into a piece of brown bread and it fell out. I was having lunch with a client."
"Wait, from the root?"
"Yeah, like a second grader. It was so weird."
"Does it hurt? What the Hell??"
"I know, weird, huh?"
"Very..."
"I got it fixed, no biggie."
"No, you don't understand. It's very, very weird. I have nightmares about my teeth falling out all the time."
"Aww Joey, really?"
"Yes! All the time!"
"That's really strange..." he chuckled uncomfortably, like maybe he'd just damned me to a life of leaping teeth.
"Wow. Very." Involuntary shudder. "Well, I have choir tonight, in like ten minutes." Was that bitchy?
"Oh honey, well, so you have choir tomorrow night, you said?"
"Yes, from 7-10." Slight exaggeration. (It's actually 7:15 to about 9 or 9:30.)
"Well I was thinking of going to this place on the South Shore, Blahdeeblahblah (don't recall what he said here, it had a name), but you said you might have plans, so..."
"Yep, choir."
"But during the day?"
"I have an appointment with the career counselor."
"Oh. Oh, right. Well, I guess you're busy."
"Yeah. Sorry, Dad."

In that moment I had a sudden vision. I could see my dad pacing with the phone in his hotel room in Milford, the weight of his business failure pushing him into a stoop, his brows creased in their expressive way, a way that says, "my daughter hates me. All I need in this world is a nice drink and some friendly conversation..." But I hadn't lied. I have appointments tomorrow. I do have choir. I can't cancel all of that.

I hate this transition, from daughter to mother. I refuse to mutate.

"So when do you get to head back to Rochester."
His tone was brisk, professional, upbeat. "This Friday. I've got to open up a new client on Thursday and then I'll head back for the weekend, come out again on Sunday night or Monday."
"Sounds good, Dad." I could have asked, then, if he'd be around next week, mentioned that I have the week off. I didn't. I said, "Well, choir's about ready to start..."
"Oh, okay honey, I'll let you go."
"Alright, Dad. Keep your teeth in."
"Ha! I'll try. Love you, JoMary."
"Love you, Dad."