“What else?”
“I told Mom that I confronted you about it and we fought. Was she pretending seriousness? “GODS, NELL!” I howled. It was late. I was witnessing a deep fetish being satisfied. Idiot.”
“Just think of how freeing that would be. To avoid spooging my jeans, I told her I was done, and I would make dinner. We had nothing to talk shit about. I’ll meet you in the kitchen after I shower. “You know how delicate my ears are, Daddy.” She stepped out the hallway our father was heading for. It’s all lies.”
“Nothing.” Mom almost giggled. “That was – weird.” I tried. Hah.” Nell forked pico de gallo drenched salad into a bowl for herself. I hadn’t heard Mom’s car enter the garage, but each time she knocked cement dust from her boots made me cringe. Margaret Thatcher was figuratively wanking on about her beloved son, when dull thumps sounded from beyond our door to the garage. Her eyes sparkled. They rattled on the counter. You surprised me.”
I was turning red enough that lowering my face couldn’t
