In this excerpt from her memoir, ‘The Sane One,’ ‘PEN15’ co-creator Anna Konkle writes about seeing her estranged father for the first time in years.
The doorbell rings again. Alex, my partner of six years, comes out from the bedroom. I’m sitting in a brown leather chair, frozen. On the other side of the door is a man who has my same hair, cheeks, and nose and who I haven’t seen for five years.
I’d invited him here. Maybe if I wait long enough, he’ll have to turn around and board the plane back to Florida. During my dad’s absence, I’d done something strange. I’d dressed a man up who sort of looked like my dad and found him corduroys like the ones real Dad used to wear.
I’d located a 1998 Champagne station wagon with velour seats that looked like the Ford we used to drive around in. And I’d dressed up as a child, teeth lined with braces on an invisible retainer, and through this I’d relived many parts of our dad-daughter relationship, all of it ending up on television.
It was semi-autobiographical and sometimes felt like some very expensive therapy, given how my co-creator Maya and I had written our parents as versions of our real parents. I wrote lines of dialogue where they’d fight with each other and make up, like they did in real life. And just like real life, they would eventually divorce in the show — and even split the house in two. I open the door.
“Hi, Anna. ” He rarely said my name.
“It’s been so long. ” He looks at me, dressed nicer than I thought he would be, a crisp white shirt tucked into dark jeans. We hug but I’m not sure if I want to. I introduce him to Alex, who looks nervous.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Peter. Nice to meet you. ” We all sit. There’s nothing for anyone to say for maybe 25 seconds, but it feels like a full minute.
I ask him about the medical test he’s in town to take.
“That’s tomorrow, yup, yup,” he answers. “Needed a day to see you and one to take the test. Plus it’s very early in the morning, so a single night wasn’t an option. It worked out.
”“Shitload of turbulence,” my dad says. He gets down on the floor and starts petting our dog, repeating compliments in the tone of a Muppet.
“Your breaf shtinks but you sure got a shweet shoul. ” Dad was always most at ease with the animals or the kids. At a party, he’d crack a joke to the grown-ups and then find us. For a moment, I try seeing him that way once again.
The restaurant’s a nice spot, just five minutes from our apartment. I’m still dreading our meal, though. This feels like the eye of the storm: after the estrangement, before whatever comes next. From my dad’s vantage point, maybe I look fine, but I’m not.
Maybe I look like I have my shit together. I don’t. My life has largely been an exhausting pursuit of the opposite of what my parents put together. I have a long-term relationship.
Pet. House. Financial freedom. A career I don’t hate.
Alex and I can afford ordering from a restaurant without looking at the price. And we round our tips up instead of down to the 18-percent penny on the back side of receipts. I know that between his intelligence and talent, Dad believes he should have ended up a CEO, a millionaire, not an ex-hippie turned human-resource manager for 7-Eleven.
Yet for all his years there, he never even made it to regional manager, a real misstep by his boss, Steve. Dad always considered him more friend than superior, despite Steve’s shortcomings. But the promotion never came. Whenever Dad was laid off, usually about every five years, he’d stay jobless for a year while Mom kept showing up for hers without much thanks.
Financial struggles were sort of perpetual in that way. Dinners out were rare, vacations rarer. At Red Lobster for Mom’s birthday one year, she started flicking crayons under other people’s tables. Dad loved it.
I even got a Shirley Temple. We were happy that night. Tonight, the waiter takes our drink orders and I ask for a glass of orange wine. Alex tells Dad to get whatever he wants.
It’s on us. He nods but won’t look my boyfriend in the eyes.
“Peter, I’ve heard how funny you are for forever and I’ve just been looking forward to seeing that in person. ” Alex hesitates, then keeps going, “I know it’s been, uh, a weird few years for you and Anna, but family can go through stuff like this and it’s just so nice we can all do this together. ” Dad’s eyes shine and they make eye contact.
If my dad thought that Alex heard the worst about him in my stories, he’d be right. So this acknowledgment, this intentional reassurance, allows my father to relax in my boyfriend’s presence. I wonder if Alex really likes him or is just making an awkward situation more comfortable. In any case, we eat Italian food.
Starting with arugula in olive oil, lemon, Parmesan, fatty sliced tomatoes in different hues of red, and mozzarella chunks that drip thick cream. We pass around capellini and lamb, broccoli with lemon shavings. At the very end, a pizza gets placed in the smack-dab middle and we grab at it and pull, chewing. Eating this, things seem normal again.
For dessert there are bites of chocolate cake, and I realize how much I’ve been laughing. Dad’s really talking now.
“Oh, the retirement community, I hate that they call it that because it makes us sound like we’re just jamming balls into Earth’s assholes, our last hurrah before death. I prefer to be in the woodshop, swimming, drinking martinis, going for a bike ride. If I have to die, let it be in Florida. Fuckin’ hate the politics.
Love the taxes. Honey, I know you saw it last time you were there, the only time you were there, but you never got a chance to go in the pool. I’m telling you, sweetheart, the pool is like hoity-toity,” he says, proud and giggling.
“You should come down together, seriously. ” I nod along, knowing I will never go back.
“There’s a great bar too, great cocktails, beer on tap, Alex, all the people that work there are groovy. Twenty-year-olds but they actually know what they’re doing — ya know? Good people. ” I shift in my seat, picturing myself on the bench outside his cul-de-sac behind the community walls.
Waiting hours for a taxi to pick me up, refusing to go back inside.
“But you know what’s really neat? I’m going to Italy, honey. Finally. Really excited about that.
If the food is anything like this, I will be a happy man. ” He brings up the check I sent him.
“I’m gonna be honest —”“No, I have to tell ya. I felt offended at first. I didn’t want to take it. And then Debby said — Alex, you have to meet Deb; she’s my best friend, anyway, and Deb said —”“No.” He comes to a full stop before continuing, “No. I wouldn’t say we ever were like that.
Went on a couple dates maybe, but we’re just good friends. We, uh, hang out every day. She’s my best friend. Anyway, I was pissed about the check you sent.
”“But then Deb said I was being an asshole. So then I accepted it. Thank you. ” I tell him I try to think about how much money he’s given me over the years.
Historically, he’d been the one to point this out.
“NYU. ” He nods, earnest. Even though I meant what I said, I want to take it back now.
“Well, we all took out loans, you, me, and Mom, and none of us could afford it, don’t forget that,” I say, clipping at my own olive branch but adding, “I still appreciate you did that. Thanks. Oh, and I just paid them off. The loans.
But you paid yours off a while ago, right? ” He nods like a commander in the military.
“Lucky return from a stock investment a decade ago. ” And winks at Alex like they are in cahoots.
“Anna, you paid yours when you got your fancy Fox show, right?? ” and he looks genuinely happy I ended up making more than minimum wage as an actor. At a certain point, maybe he’d believed that as long as I kept auditioning, I’d keep waiting tables. The idea wasn’t unreasonable.
“Yeah, yeah, over at UCLA. I guess it scans the whole body. ” His PSA level — an indicator of prostate cancer, which he’s had a couple times — is higher now. Do they think the cancer could be back?
“Good question. Uh. Or the doctor thinks my high number could indicate it’s somewhere else. Because, you know, they removed my entire prostate, the whole fuckin’ thing.
Apparently the PSA level can still go up a little, but it shouldn’t be able to go this high if it’s been removed. So that is why I’m here, doing this scan. ” This doesn’t sound good.
“Could the number be higher for no reason, Dad, or they have to find the reason? ”My dad looks as though he’s floated to some other place. He confirms that the test scans the whole body for cancer, but he’s unsure of much else. I tell him I’m proud of him.
When it comes to health, he used to hide under a rock, like his body was in trouble for doing something bad.
“Are you kidding, honey? I want to live a long life. I’ve got grandchildren to meet. ” And he winks again at Alex.
The conversation turns to my mom, and he asks if I’ve seen her recently. I hold his gaze, not allowing him to make me feel worse than I already do because in recent years I’ve seen her and not him. And I do feel bad about it.
“I’m sure you’ve seen her more than me. ” Dad doesn’t laugh but sips wine. Fine. Bring it.
Right now, Mom’s probably sitting beside her on-again, off-again fiancé, also living in Florida, unbeknownst to Dad. A few years ago, my parents moved from separate states in the Northeast to nearby Floridian towns. Still, neither knows they live 30 minutes from each other. And the weekend of their new-home purchases, they both texted me the news.
Despite running in different directions, Mom and Dad stayed connected, stomping the same track. But I’d become tired of being the connection between two people who didn’t like reminders of that connection. Dad: sarcastic, humor first. Mom: repulsed by self-deprecation.
This simple dynamic was a major problem from as early as I can remember. And it remains one for me today. Because to be around my mom is to laugh. Often, at her.
It’s not uncommon for there to be something black stuck in her big, beautiful teeth, or sauce smeared in strange locations and she’ll have no apparent interest in wiping it off. Between and during bites, she’ll spew expertise on life, with meat specks and barbecue sauce somehow ending up on her ear, neck, and ankle. After eating nine pork ribs, she’ll say she can’t believe she ate all of those because she’s a vegetarian.
Decades ago, when Dad and I got the chuckles, her eyes would move toward us, fast and surprised. She’s a gorgeous comedic creature. But if I try to celebrate what makes her so funny, she’ll insist there’s nothing to laugh at. So maybe I played the clown instead.
And sometimes I get my feelings hurt too. I should really understand more.
“It’s getting late, babe,” I say to Alex, accidentally interrupting them. I ask Dad, “Think we should get the check? We want to get it. ” He doesn’t fight me.
I feel sad it’s ending, but mostly relieved.
“It was nice, sweetie. Thank you for seeing me, sweetie,” my dad says. I don’t bristle at his pet name, said twice.
“Very happy to meet you, Alex. You’re a good guy. ” Dad nods for a long time. In our car, I watch until his taillights disappear, then breathe.
I have no idea when we’ll see him again.
“Well. I liked him. ”“Why, you thought he’d be, like, a monster? ” He laughs a little but doesn’t say no. “I mean.
I thought he’d be weirder. And he is weird. Don’t get me wrong. ” I laugh once and he continues, “But not like what I expected.
” We nod, thinking. What if, for all these years, my own deficits had caused me to cut him out of my life for little reason? Or was I on track toward another impending disappointment? After that dinner, I wonder how his test at UCLA went.
He’ll tell me when he’s ready. I don’t mother him or coddle or control. He’s an adult. And so am I.by the Co-creator of Pen15, by Anna Konkle, to be published on May 5, 2026, by Random House, an imprint and division of Penguin Random House LLC.
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