When someone at church or a teacher asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d tell them a drummer, but sometimes—just to myself; Maureen had lectured me so much about feminism that I knew enough not to say it out loud—I dreamed of being a homemaker. Without wives, the world would grind to a halt, Mom had said. It felt good to picture myself as that vital, to have that role waiting for me to step into, the right hand to a strong, handsome man. I would know exactly how to act. Sometimes I even imagined myself the wife of this house. Not in a gross way, not like I thought of being married to
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