At my father’s retirement dinner, my parents seated my husband

out and squeezed my arm, fast, like she was embarrassed by it, and walked back into the ballroom to do damage control on the version of our parents she’d built her whole self to please.

The Drive Home

We got the car from the valet. November, cold enough that the windows fogged before Marcus got the heat going.

I didn’t fall apart like I’d planned to.

I continue reading …