"Hi! It's Dad," said the warm, senior voice on the other end of the line.
And just for a tiny second, I pretended that he really was my dad, just calling to check in and say hi. What a sweetheart, I thought; he sounded really glad to hear my voice. Maybe he wanted to make dinner plans or ask me how I was doing during these last few days of the school year. Maybe he was just calling to tell me he loved me, or to ask what I've been up to lately.
Of course, he wasn't the exactly right age, though, and Dad never sounded glad to hear my voice when I called the house. ("Here's your mother," was the usual greeting.) Besides, Dad passed away six years ago.
"Sorry, wrong number," I said warmly. Sheepishly, he apologized.
Because, really, I enjoyed the split-second fantasy; it was kind of nice.
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