|જ⁀➴|

[The kitchen is dimly lit, cluttered with an empty whiskey bottle and a few mismatched glasses. Father John leans back in his chair, his usual strict demeanor softened by the haze of his current state. Mr. Dad, swaying slightly, clutches his drink in one hand and his phone in the other, a wide grin plastered across his face.]

જ⁀➴ “You know… maybe God’s plan isn’t all straight lines. Maybe it’s more like… like one of those twisty straws. All wavy and unpredictable.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Mr. Dad snorts loudly, nearly spilling his drink. “Twisty straws! That’s rich, coming from you, Mr. Holier-than-Everyone. I gotta call her—she’s gonna love this.”

જ⁀➴ “Don’t… don’t call her,” Father John says, frowning but slurring slightly. He leans forward, his hand reaching toward the phone sluggishly. “She doesn’t need to deal with your nonsense right now. She deserves peace, not your drunk antics.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Mr. Dad laughs, waving him off as he dials. “Relax! She knows I’m like this. Besides, she married you—she’s used to seriousness.” He holds the phone to his ear, grinning as it rings.

જ⁀➴ “This is a bad idea,” Father John mutters, rubbing his temple. “She deserves better than this.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ The phone connects, and Mr. Dad bursts out laughing. “Hey! Guess what? Your husband, Father Serious, is talking about divine plans being like twisty straws. Can you even imagine? Mr. Rulebook himself, talking about wiggly theology!”

જ⁀➴ “It’s a metaphor,” Father John snaps, leaning closer to the phone with an uncharacteristically sheepish look. “A profound metaphor… about divine flexibility. It wasn’t about straws.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Mr. Dad smirks, ignoring him. “Yeah, yeah, divine flexibility. Like Gabriel doing stretches before a poker game. That’s your guy, right there.”

જ⁀➴ Father John’s eyes widen, and his face flushes slightly. “Gabriel wouldn’t gamble! He’s… above that. But Michael…” He hesitates, his voice dropping. “Michael might.”