He Said My Mother Dying Wasn’t His Problem

no fever dream to pin this on. Just choices. Boring, plain choices.

“Now you do,” I said.

She left.

The front door shut.

Ryan spread his hands like a man entering mediation over a fence line.

“I was going to tell you.”

“When.”

He didn’t answer that one.

“After my mother’s funeral?” I asked.

His face changed.

Not shame. Not horror.

Annoyance that I had said the continue reading …