“Oh. What about the second one?” “Never. He was a gent.” “But he left you.” “Yup.” “Why?” It takes Mary Pat so long to speak that by the time she finally does, Donna’s finished her cigarette and the light in the room has changed. “I embarrassed him.” “How?” “I dunno.” “Your hair?” I have bad hair? “Your face? Your tits? Your . . . what?” “My hate.” Mary Pat lights a cigarette of her own. “I don’t understand.” “I don’t either.” Mary Pat exhales a long stream of smoke. “But that’s what he said the day he left. He said, ‘Your hate embarrasses me.’”
My hate
