Atmosphere

by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Jimmy had been told from a young age that fear and failing and trying and wanting and openness and kindness and sincerity made him weak. And because he had believed it, he’d learned to suppress all of those things. And when he saw those traits in others, he hated them because he hated himself.

At which point, Lydia dropped the green beans in her hand. “Okay, I’m just going to say it,” Lydia said. “I heard you puked the whole time.” Donna laughed. Vanessa bit her lip. Griff stopped stirring and turned toward Joan. “I heard that, too,” Griff said with an embarrassed look. Donna put both hands up. “I’m staying out of it.” “Joanie, is that true?” Frances asked. Joan looked around to see that everyone was waiting for her to respond. “Well, if you must know,” she said, finally. “That is correct. I puked straight into the air.” Frances threw her head back and cackled. All of the adults in the room started laughing with her.