It was the same leak I offered to fix countless times, and countless times Cody told me it was a man’s job. He called it chivalry; I called it chauvinism. When it came to home repairs, or anything do-it-yourself, Cody had no clue what he was doing. That’s what growing up privileged afforded him, the luxury of relying on others for basic survival. My life hadn’t afforded me the same blissful ignorance. By age ten I knew how to change a tire; by age thirteen I could replace a water heater.

Let me fix the damn plumbing, Cody.

Cody tossed the hand towel on the growing puddle and knelt down on it as he reached under the sink to shut off the water. Glancing up at me, he asked, “Are you able to still go to family dinner, or do you want to stay home? Everyone would understand if you’d rather not go, Marin, considering everything going on with Vera…”

I shrugged, partly wanting to stay home to nurse my aching ass, but I needed to be there tonight. I could never tell Cody why. I could barely admit it to myself.

“I’ll be fine. I just need to get changed really quick. Could you text Ollie and tell him we’re running late? And obviously I won’t be bringing sweet potatoes like I planned.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Mom whipped up a ten-course meal, which I doubt any of us will have the stomach for anyway.” Cody rubbed my back comfortingly, as if I was the one whose daughter had run away.

“Mind cleaning up while I change?”

“Sure, I got it, hon.” He came off self-congratulatory, as if he was doing me a favor cleaning up the mess that his incompetence caused.

I exhaled my irritation, inhaled patience. “Thanks.”

Cody grabbed a wad of paper towels and scooped up a handful of mush. “Go do what you do best and look beautiful.”

Most women, I guess, would be flattered by daily affirmations of how beautiful and sexy you were. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate my husband’s attraction to me, but more often his endearments smacked of the kind of sexist compliments that went out of style with fifties swing dresses and bouffant hairdos, when the Man of the House went to the office, and the Adoring Housewife stayed home cleaning and baking.

I stood in front of my closet, half of my clothing stuffed into four square feet of space dimly lit by a single dangling lightbulb. The other half overflowed into the spare bedroom. Several hangers hung empty where Vera had raided my wardrobe when a growth spurt boosted her up to my size. I didn’t have the heart to take the clothes back, and now I clung to a desperate hope that she’d be wearing them all again soon.