On Rotation

by Shirlene Obuobi

“I would do it again,” I said, setting our glasses down hard on the table. “You were disrespectful to me. I won’t tolerate that. Being family doesn’t get you a free pass to talk to me however you’d like.” I tore off a paper towel for both of us, then sat. “Let’s eat.”

Angela Appiah, so petrified of being hurt, so terrified of being loved, that I preferred to hurt myself first.