In a way, this feels like the most legitimate work I've ever done. An excerpt:
Dinner is
beef and broccoli with a side of television. We serve ourselves and my mother
serves my father, who sits in the small dining nook wearing only his underwear.
Middle and I are in charge of getting him drinks. He communicates through
grunts and hand signals, pounding his chest like an ape for emphasis. Even
Jonathan looks disgusted in his high chair.
We take our places at the scarred
bleached-wood table. I want to roll around in the wheeled dining-room chair
until I vomit, but instead I load up my fork and put it to my lips. Small
bites, I’d counseled myself in my journal. Chew well. Trick your stomach into
thinking it’s not hungry.
“I took her to Frye’s office today,”
my mother says.
Rooster makes a humph noise.
“He said she was –”
“Do you mind?” He doesn’t take his
eyes from the screen. “Family Ties is on.”