The Recipient by Dean Mayes

around.”
    Turning to the stove, Peter began serving up his culinary creation.
    â€œWe were difficult to keep a leash on,” Casey responded lyrically. “Pa was as bad as we were. He was the one who encouraged us to keep playing cricket until well after sunset when we could hardly see. God, that seems like such a long time ago.”
    Peter frowned then, pausing with a full plate in his hand.
    â€œWhat do you mean, a long time ago? You’re only twenty-six now.”
    â€œIt’s not the years though, Dad,” Casey said laconically, tapping the centre of her chest with a balled fist. “It’s the mileage.”
    ___
    They sat together at the counter laughing and chatting as they ate their meal, which was indeed a culinary triumph. They shared a bottle of Riesling that complemented the dish perfectly, a treat that Peter brought with him each week.
    Jazz music, Peter’s favourite, played on the stereo system. The last remnants of stress from the day had been neutralised by the time Casey took her last mouthful and she sat back on her stool, nodding approvingly.
    â€œThat was a master stroke, Dad,” she declared. “Very well done.”
    Peter nodded as he finished and gathered their plates together. “Not bad for a birthday meal?”
    â€œNot at all,” Casey agreed, raising her glass.
    â€œSo, twenty-six, eh? Three full years since the change-over,” Peter remarked, as he finished loading the plates into the dishwasher. “How does it feel?”
    Casey shrugged then grinned at his reference to the transplant.
    â€œLike it’s twenty-six? I don’t know. How am I supposed to feel?”
    Peter considered her question for a moment and then shrugged.
    â€œI dunno. Like any twenty-six-year-old I suppose. I’ve forgotten what it was like being twenty-six. I think I read somewhere that it is the first year that you can legitimately call yourself an adult. Anything before that doesn’t count.”
    â€œGee thanks, Dad. I think ,” Casey chuckled. “So I guess that means it’s all downhill from here.”
    â€œNot at all. I haven’t behaved like an adult for thirty years and I don’t intend to start now.”
    â€œRetirement seems to agree with you,” Casey observed.
    â€œNow that I’ve got you kids off my hands and have commandeered the house the way I’ve always wanted to, I’m enjoying something of a renaissance. Edie’s fears about me becoming a whinging old fart have been turned on their head, well and truly.”
    The mention of her mother’s name caused Casey’s smile to fade and she nervously sipped from her glass to conceal herself from her father.
    Peter, pretending he hadn’t noticed the sudden change his daughter’s disposition, stood and ferried the dinner plates and cutlery to the dishwasher.
    â€œHow is she?” Casey asked, realising now that she couldn’t avoid the proverbial elephant in the room.
    Peter thought about his answer for a long moment.
    â€œShe’s good,” he answered curtly. “Still doing legal aid stuff for Slattery and Gerard. Their immigration work seems to be kicking along quite a bit. I swear, it’s like she’s keeping longer hours than I did when I was working.”
    Casey didn’t offer anything more and Peter went on stacking the dishes. Eventually he returned to the bench and sat down across from Casey. His expression was tinged with concern. “She asked after you.”
    Casey set down her wine glass, agitated, and circled the rim with her finger.
    â€œDid she.” She responded flatly to her father’s white lie. Peter gulped, knowing that his daughter had caught him out. He was a terrible fibber.
    â€œLook, love. She cares about—”
    â€œDon’t, Dad,” she growled warningly.
    Casey flashed an icy glare at her father which stopped him in mid sentence. “I know what Mum has been