She takes a sharp inhale of breath and raises her voice. The sound seems to hit the windshield of the car and shatter it. “Please don’t give me this shit right now, Cham. He gets confused. I understand you have a very important schedule, but it’s an hour and then you can get back to your night.”

I look out the window while trying to keep the hot tears out of my eyes.

Begrudging text to Gene sent upon coming to terms with the new reality of my night:

Just had this family thing come up ugh C

G oh noooo

can you tell Abigail I’m sorry I missed her C

G Wait aren’t you coming back?

Yeah, but I gotta go home real quick. I’ll be back in an hour C

G Is everything okay?

It will be. C

G You’re still coming over tonight right?

Ya :) C

By the time we pull into our driveway, the anger has turned to dread. “What if he has to go to the bathroom?” I ask. “I don’t know how to use the plastic thing, and it’s so awkward both of us pretending like this is not what’s happening. Or what if—”

“Relax, Cham, it’ll only be an hour, max.” She unlocks the car doors, but I don’t undo my seat belt. “Come on, I’m going to be late.”

I open the door without looking back at her. I already know what her face is doing—that grimace thing that makes her mouth look small because the world isn’t what she wants it to be. Or I’m not what she wants me to be.

I slam the door harder than necessary, and it echoes off the garage door, along with the sounds of her tires leaving the driveway. When I can’t hear her car anymore, I kick the stone wall in her garden. Then I kick it again. The hurt feels good, but I have to be careful about doing things like that. I don’t want it to get like it got in middle school. The thought of going back to anger management almost sends me back to anger management.

“I’m home,” I yell as I open the front door. The lights are on in the kitchen, but it’s as quiet inside as if no one were home. “Dad?” I call, quickly taking my shoes off and hurrying toward the living room.

“Hey, sweetie.” He wheels into the kitchen just as I’m getting there.

“Hi,” I say, still feeling a bit pouty until I register the look of pain on his face. “Are you okay?”

“I was just looking for some aspirin,” he says, with one hand on his temple. “I have a headache all of a sudden.”

“Oh no. Let’s get you some water.” We both make our way over to the cabinet next to the fridge. His wheels sound like they’re dragging something unidentified behind them across the tile. (Who isn’t dragging something unidentified along behind them?) The chair hits my leg and I stiffen. Relax, Hell Queen, he’s your dad.