Sundial

by Catriona Ward

Eventually I say, “Enough,” and turn the movie off. This is family life, in my experience. Always trying to do things like the families in magazines or on TV, followed by the abrupt plummet of failure.

The mess of adult life, where you’ve both dug in so deep, where blame is a tapestry so tightly woven that it cannot ever be unpicked.

I started to whisper something hurtful, to let out some of the stored-up bile.

Whenever we leave the house at the last minute, Irving finds something he has to do: unload the dishwasher, hang a picture, make a call. It’s an exercise of power, making me wait, anxiety rocketing higher and higher as we grow later and later for whatever it is we have planned.

Also I think he needs the adrenaline of urgency to do anything at all.