I'll stare at my plate for two hours because even at thirty-nine fucking years old, I know I'll crack in half if I have to watch him tell me that I'm all wrong. I'll nod along like I'm agreeing with him because arguing is so much worse, though it's not like I'm ever able to argue in the moment. Even when I prepare myself for these situations, I don't have the right responses at the ready. They disappear. It's like I'm helpless. Like a child who can't stop and say, 'Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?'"
