He coughs more when his mother is around. She'll fluff his pillow and he'll give her an irritated look, then when she steps back:
Cough, cough.
It's different with the father. No coughing. Barely a pip, almost as stoic as he is around his girlfriend. The father doesn't come by too much though, at least not on his own. When he does it's with the mother, Sally, and then he doesn't cough. He sits up. The father sits up, too. The mother adjusts the sheets, the pillow, but no coughing.
He wears suits. They don't fit him. Suits never fit anyone anymore though. Hard to find a good tailor. Business casual took them all out. Even then, even with a French cut they wouldn't fit him though. The father doesn't belong in suits. But he wears them.
She came straight from work today, Sally. Short skirt, no stockings. Pumps. Amazing legs. Fluffing a pillow never looked so good. She wore that skirt. Beats those sweatpants.
Cornbread and chili today.
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