“I never understood how you could deal with rejection so much,” I said by way of some sort of explanation. “Or Dad leaving. Or any of it. To me, I looked at you and thought, she should live more carefully. More boxed in. You kept opening yourself up over and over. How? Love, wanting things, is just . . . painful.” Mom seemed to still, her face scrunched in thought, her hands wringing the steering wheel. “Charlie, you think you get to choose whether you love or not,” Mom said. “You either close yourself off to love or you don’t. Those are the only options. There is so much unspent love inside
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