And it makes me furious. “No, Cash. I want you to go back in time, and I want you to make it so the girl whose mom just keeled over in the cereal aisle at the grocery store with a heart attack at forty-one, and whose father is so torn up about it that he avoids buying food, gets to eat the only sweet thing she’s gonna get in her whole damn day.” Now I’m crying. I don’t know where it came from. It ambushed me out of nowhere. How do I stuff it back? Fuck grief. Fuck it so hard. I expect him to back off. Mumble an apology. Find an excuse to bail. No one has the patience for old grief. After a
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