“She looks like she got dressed in the dark.”
Every jab arrived suddenly, and I kept quiet, setting the sharp thing aside without looking.
I remembered a Sunday dinner months ago. Sarah had slid an open bank statement across the table toward me, her voice careful.
“Mom, about the account Grandpa left me, I wanted to ask —”
“Not at the table, kiddo. Your mother’s exhausted,” Kevin had laughed as he scooped the document up with the dirty plates.
I kept quiet.
He turned to me.
“Speaking of exhausted, how’s that boss of yours? Still riding you about the quarterly close?”
I’d thanked him that night for saving me from one more conversation I didn’t have the energy for.
***
Lola glanced at me at a red light.
“You’re doing the thing again. The staring.”
“Sorry.”
I’d thanked him that night.
