All 4 of us were seated at the kitchen table and I was picking at the glue in between the green tiles staring at all the crumbs that got caught in between. “We are getting a divorce, but it’s not because we don’t love you! “ I was 9 years old and my dad had been sleeping in a different room for months.
The rest of childhood was a blur splattered with awkward and painful memories. My dad slamming my moms cell phone in the door. His new beach house with a living room that smelled strongly of a dying old person. There was lots of dust and I held my breath every time I walked through.
My mom’s new boyfriend who called me babe and who was obsessed with the Red Sox.
A family trip with another new boyfriend to Long Island for Thanksgiving. His nephews mixed corn, mashed potatoes, chicken, AND ketch-up all together on a paper plate. It’s the only way they will eat! The house smelled like dirty dog and cigarettes. After my mom and him broke up, he sent me a check for my birthday and I ripped it in half and pinned it on my bedroom wall. Ruthless.