Charisma covers my hand that is resting on top of my fork on the table. I glance over at her and see that her eyes are filled with tears, but she’s fighting to keep them from spilling over. In a soft voice that doesn’t carry too far, she says, “Trey gave us the talk while you were sleeping. He told us that you don’t like sympathy, so if you say something that we find sad or troublesome, we should not show you that it bothers us.” “He told you I hate pity?” “Yes, that’s right,” she says. “That’s why Vessey left so quickly. She wanted to smother you with concern and love and kisses and cry her
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