was trying to make a joke, is what I don’t say to him. I feel sorry for your poor mother, is what I was going to say to him, that she has to deal with such a miserable, pathetic son. But I don’t say any of it. He grabs my hands, focuses my eyes. “What do you mean?” he insists. “N-nothing,” I stammer. “I didn’t—it was just a joke—” Warner drops my hands like they’ve burned him. He looks away. Charges toward
Mommy issues
