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We’ve driven several minutes before I figure it out. They say the truth. They don’t hide it behind politeness or sugarcoat it. They don’t therapy it out or pretend it doesn’t exist. They live out in the open. Say what they think. If people get mad, let ’em get mad. And they seem happy. As happy as any of us ever get.
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“Who are all these people?” Martin asks me quietly. “Everybody acts like it’s a funeral.” “Future in-laws,” I say.
“In my day, babies were women’s work,” Mom says. I have to laugh. “Mom, you had a nanny, a tutor, and a housekeeper watching over me.” “All women!” she says from behind the towel.
