Boreal Witch

"Boy," Dad said, tipping his head in a sideways glance. "You must really like garlic."

"I do," I answered, smiling. We'd had this conversation already - a few weeks ago when he and I were sitting shoulder to shoulder at his desk, working on taxes. Talk about deja vu. 

"Or I'm just smelling garlic," he said. 

"Your nose could be broken," I offered. "After all, the nurse said chemo was going to affect your taste and smell."

A long pause. 

"You think my nose is broken?" Dad asked. 

"No," I laughed. "I just really like garlic."

Then he laughed, too.