Dear Sweet Pea

by Julie Murphy

Mrs. Young smiles at him sweetly, making what my mom calls a bless-your-heart expression. “Bless your heart” is just basically southern for you’re not so bright, but at least you mean well.

“Well,” she says, “we don’t like each other much, but we are cursed to love each other.”

It’s because both of us have this habit of feeling things—good and bad—so much that all we can do is cry. And nothing’s worse than crying when you’re trying to yell at someone.