Who would have ever thought family dinner could be this painful?
I looked up at mother’s heirloom clock on the wall careful to avoid eye contact. 6:45. Only six minutes since I last checked. Really?
Mom should have never opened that second bottle of wine and brought up Dad dropping out of college.
Dad would never have brought up boyfriends of years past and used that word.
Nobody’s spoken since. Only the clank of silverware and Dad’s clicking jaw break the silence. 6:49.
“May I be excused?” I said staring at the bites of meatloaf on my plate.
“What? You don’t like it?” Mother asks.
“I’m full,” I respond.
“Finish your plate.” Dad grumbles.