This is the room I grew up in. It's my dad's office now, but it used to be my bedroom. Those windows used to be different; they'd open from the bottom and slide across and I would pop the screen out and sit on the ledge with my legs dangling over the driveway below. I never had those curtains and my walls never looked like this. But that's my old desk, and my dad uses my old dresser in here too. I don't miss it. I don't really miss anything about this house, except my parents. But I still only miss them in abstract ways that I don't like to admit to them. And I'm 30 years old. It's still hard for me to tell my dad I love him. I'm not even sure I do tell him. We didn't even hug for the longest time until some friends made fun of us for it and now we hug awkwardly when we leave each other. I don't feel like he doesn't love me though, and I hope he knows I love him. We just don't say it. We're Wests, that sort of shit is hard for us when it's important to us.