“What do you think I’d be like?” His face contorts. “That I’d be excited you were in a violent household? That I’d be glad for you.” He starts clapping. I tilt my head and watch, smiling. “Appreciate the applause. You can send me a fruit basket next.” “I’ll do that,” he says dryly. “Right to 2149 You’re Not Funny Lane.” “Sending the basket to yourself?” I nearly laugh. His eyes are knives. “Oh that’s right. Your address is 460 You’re Never Dating My Daughter Avenue.” Straight to my soul. Still, I lower back to my seat. “Been trying to move off that street.”
