“Fine. Was she good?” Aiden looks puzzled for a minute, like he can’t quite track this turn in conversation. “The fuck, Aiden,” I clarify, exasperated. “Was she good?” He opens his mouth. Closes it. And before he can ever make the words come out, Dad is walking in with Indian carryout, and we all fall on the plastic bags like a pack of starving wolves.
He. Get it right
