One day I came home crying like a little bitch because I’d caught Fay looking at me with a facial expression that I interpreted as pure contempt for me and also I was on my period and my entire body felt like one giant sob. “She hates me,” I wailed. “Why does she hate me?” My mom, who is herself a therapist, which was why I’d been in therapy since second grade, said, “You should bring this up in therapy.”
