“I’m not ready.”“You’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes,” my mother says.“Is sitting here such a problem?
” My father pours coffee.“If I buy it, it’ll mean I care.”“You do care.” My mother looks at me over her reading glasses.“Well, I don’t want you-know-who to know that!
I remember the friend who took the photo telling us to move closer to one another.
I imagine handing over a Christmas present, one I’ve clearly taken time to pick out and purchase.
Not only do I try to keep hand-job references to a minimum with them, but I don’t believe past trauma excuses present dysfunction.