Inappropriate Material

This is post 40 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“So I thought, her—father”—Gwen put an unpleasant emphasis on this word—“is in software, maybe this is some wonderful new educational stuff. She had it with her, so we went downstairs and put it on.”
“Let me guess,” Bennett said. “The witch turned out to be a nice person who happened to be a senior citizen and taught everyone a lesson about age-ism.”
Gwen laughed. “I think that would have been an improvement. This really wasn’t even a story at all, but just a video game. Like, you have to move to the right place to hear the evil stepmother planning to lose them. Then you have to find the right key, pick up the stones, et cetera. . . .
“Of course Lizzy was very good at it, and I’m afraid my attempts to wean her away were about as successful as yours. But the worst thing about it was Chloe’s attitude. She got very defensive, and said Lizzy just wasn’t ‘ready’ for the Brothers Grimm version. I must admit I lost my temper a little. I reminded her that not only did she love that story when she was three, she also had The Wizard of Oz memorized, word-perfect, when she was five.”
Bennett nodded his head fondly. “I remember,” he said. “She used to correct me if I slipped up when I was reading it aloud to her.”

Continue

Gwen's Self Doubt

This is post 39 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Besides, there was the other point of tension. He cleared his throat. “Uh—Gwen, I’m sorry about Lizzy. You know I am.”
She held up a hand. “No, Ed. I’m the one who should be sorry. You were right about them. Maybe you didn’t go about it in the best way, but your ideas were sound. You know, about responsibility and all that.”
Bennett sat up a little straighter. Sound. It was a good, chest-thumping word. But what had brought about this correction in Gwen’s understanding? “Did she straighten up when I left?” he inquired.
Gwen tossed her head impatiently. “Hardly. I’ll tell you about it in a minute, but first let me ask you, was I a bad mother?”
Bennett had sufficient husbandly experience to answer without thinking. “Of course not. You were a wonderful mother. Believe me, anyone who can sit through two hours a day of beginning clarinet practice is a veritable saint. You couldn’t have done more for those kids.”
Gwen felt a little better. She certainly couldn’t say the same about Bennett’s level of involvement. But blame was beside the point now. She shook her head doubtfully. “We must have done something, or not done it. Do you know, I went up to read Lizzy a bedtime story, after she’d calmed down a bit, and she actually didn’t know any—or claimed not to? So I got out our old Grimm’s fairy tales that we used to read to Chloe, and I started reading ‘Hansel and Gretel.’ When I got to the part where Hansel drops the little stones, she interrupted and said it was boring to listen to, and she had it in video and in hypertext on CD-Rom.”
Bennett rolled his eyes in the darkness.

Continue

End of a Long Evening

This is post 38 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Bennett climbed with relief into his wife’s little car. It had been a long evening. First the getting lost and wandering in dangerous parts of town; then the tire, and having to drive on it flat rather than risk death by pulling over and getting out. At the party, where he’d hoped for a quiet drink free from women, even if infested by the wrong sort of men, he’d instead been assailed by mindless blaring and offensive, possibly dangerous, contortions. Immediately after, his son had decided to exhibit masculinity for the first time, but chose as his target the first decent person he’d ever voluntarily associated with. And throughout that enormous Negro androgyne hovering over everything like some sort of sorrowing Buddha. Bennett wondered vaguely if Robert might be into some new recreational drugs.
Now, though, there was the new problem of diagnosing Gwen’s mood. That, at least, was quickly resolved. After berating him affectionately for not carrying a cell phone, she placed a hand on his knee. “Thank God you’re all right, Ed,” she said. “I was worried when you left, but I was proud, too.”
“Proud?” He wasn’t sure he wanted that. Changes disturbed him.
“Yes, she said. “I have to admit I underestimated you. You took a big step tonight toward accepting Robert. I’m sure he and Jack appreciate it.”
Bennett pondered. After the first irritated shock of recognition—only natural, given the misunderstanding that had occurred—perhaps Robert’s incredulity had been tinged with something approaching gratitude. Still, the less said about the regrettable evening the better.

Continue

Sushi at Home

This is post 37 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Back at the apartment, Robert handed Jack a brandy. “You look very Dickensian,” he said. Propped up on pillows, his jaw bound up in a large handkerchief, Jack only rolled his eyes in reply and applied an ice pack.
Robert put on his silk dressing gown, climbed into bed with a smaller brandy, and snuggled. “If your brother doesn’t come back, who’ll be your best man? Second best after me, of course?”
“Hmm. ’Rank really knows how to perform gayness.”
“Oh stop.”
“I hear he was ’rying to show you some new moves.”
Robert sipped his drink. “Put it this way,” he said. “Why go out for sushi when I can wrap my own at home?”
Jack thought. “Variety?” he queried.
Robert set his empty glass on the bedside table. “Honey, underneath all that wasabe, Frank is nothing but a California roll. Everybody knows that.” He rolled lazily over and began to unbutton Jack’s pajamas.

Continue

Aftermath*

*This post has the f word in it.

This is post 36 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

In the car on the way home, Robert flexed his knuckles, feeling the unfamiliar ache. “I still can’t believe I did that. It just came over me, like an electric shock or something—God, I love this man!”
“You ha’ a funny way o’ showin’ it,” Jack said, trying to move his jaw as little as possible.
“Well, really, who would have thought my father would show up at one of our parties? It’s like a miracle or something—the mountain coming to Mohammed. It’s a sign.”
“Prolly your ’other made him,” Jack said.
“Yes, I admit Mother is an irresistible force, but until now, my father has been a steadfast immovable object.”
Jack smiled, then winced in pain.
“And even if I had been expecting him, there was no way I could have guessed he’d get a flat and end up sitting in the front seat with you; or that you would just happen to be reaching into the glove compartment for the flashlight right when I just happened to come barreling out full of misinformation—from your brother, I might add. What’s the matter with the car again?”
Jack made a dipping motion with his hand. “’Otholes. ’Ront end job. Axle,” he said, with difficulty. There was a pause, and then he said, “Where is ’Enn?”
Robert stopped a little abruptly at a red light. “Fuck me, I don’t know. He just stormed out. Frank was a little too much for him, I think.”
Jack punched the door. “’Astard,” he said.
“Frank or Glenn?”
“’Oth.”

Continue

Robert Takes Action

This is post 35 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

It was pouring rain outside, but Robert hardly felt it. He ran around to the narrow street beside the club where he had parked. No one was there, but he caught a glimpse of movement inside the Maxima. His stomach lurched. It was Jack, bending over the fat guy’s lap. Without thinking, he ran to the driver’s side door and wrenched it open. Then he hauled Jack out by the collar and slugged him.
There was a confused rush of sensations. Sheba’s strong arms were around him, and her deep voice was murmuring, “Now, Robbie, let’s don’t have any unpleasantness. You got too much class for that, sugar.” He could feel pain in his knuckles, and he saw Jack crumpled over the hood of the car, holding his jaw, but incredibly, he also heard his father’s voice: “Robert? What the hell?”

Continue

Exit Robert

This is post 34 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

There was a moment of silence, and then Frank burst out laughing. “What was that? What’s he talking about? He was the oldest, fattest guy out there! Talk about disgusting.”
“Shut up, Frank,” Robert said. He felt a little hysterical, as if he might burst out crying. He brushed past his colleague and made his way to Sheba, ignoring invitations to dance and drink from various well-wishers.
“Where’s Jack?” he demanded.
Sheba raised well-plucked brows. “He left with that Ben fellow a few minutes ago, baby,” she said, prepared to comfort the afflicted. But Robert had already rushed downstairs and out the door like the wind.

Continue

Glenn Takes Action

This is post 33 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

After dispatching Frank, Jack went to the bar to get much needed drinks for himself and Glenn. He had to go around the crowd on the way back to avoid collisions, and as he came close to the stairs he was startled to find Bennett there, staring at the scene in wide-eyed horror.
“Wait here,” Jack said, but he knew he could not make himself heard above the din. He tossed back his own drink, put his brother’s down hurriedly on the table, muttered a doubtless inaudible apology, and made his way back in time to rescue the old professor from Sheba’s well-intentioned ministrations. Steering the man by the elbow, Jack helped him descend the staircase and exit the club.
For some reason, watching his brother leave in that way infuriated Glenn more than anything else that night—more than being duped and frustrated by Frank, even. As he had always suspected, these people were animals, driven along by their basest, most perverse inclinations. His own brother was worse than any of them, because he was the biggest hypocrite. All his pretentious “refinement”—positively wallowing in culture. He remembered Jack sneering at his collection of John Grisham paperbacks, tolerating the country music station in the car. Then he practically ran out with that disgusting old queen as soon as he crooked his little finger. On the eve of his so-called commitment ceremony, no less. It nauseated Glenn, and he was by God going to do something about it.
Slamming down his half-drunk fourth whisky, he followed Frank to the men’s room, where that artist was complimenting Robert on his embouchure, and Robert was half-heartedly explaining that commitment was not just a straight thing.
Glenn took it all in at a glance. “You people make me sick,” he said. “Commitment means nothing to you. Look at you. Cavorting with some sick fucking drag queen. I came in here to beat the crap out of him, but you know what? I’m not even gonna get my hands that dirty. You disgust me. Oh, and in case you care, Robert, Jack just left with some fat old faggot.” He stared at them and shook his head. “Damn. My ex-wife had nothing on you guys.” Turning on his heel, he departed.

Continue

In the Men's Room **

**This post contains some fairly adult material.

This is post 32 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Robert went to use the men’s room, less of an adventure at a private party, but one never knew. Nothing much was going on this time, however, and Robert was just zipping when Frank came in, pulling off the wig.
“Did you see?” he asked gleefully. “It was priceless. If your ball and chain in the mud hadn’t interrupted he would have fallen for it.” Frank batted his false eyelashes at Robert. “Thank goodness I ran into you, Glenn. Honestly, I had no idea all their friends except me were—“ he dropped to a whisper and raised penciled brows—“you know.”
Robert laughed. “Was Jack very angry?” he asked, a little nervously.
Frank rolled his eyes and shrugged as he shimmied out of his pantyhose. “You know what a hard time I have paying attention to Jack. Are you sure he’s not really a closeted straight?”
“Frank!”
“Oh help me with my zipper and don’t get your panties in a wad. I know he’s your betrothed and all that, but why don’t we forget about what’s-his-name for a few minutes? God knows it should be easy enough. Drop some X with me, and let’s have some fun for old times’ sake—what do you say?” Clad only in the zebra stripes, Frank stowed his costume in a gym bag. Then he straightened up and came very close, stroking Robert’s crotch. “Come on. Let me wet your reed for you,” he murmured in Robert’s ear.

Continue

Glenn and Friend

This is post 31 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Looking around at the crowd during the lulls between songs, Robert felt a reassuring warmth. Although he delighted in all aspects of the club scene, it was not true, as Jack had implied, that he was promiscuous. It was just that these people were his family. He could relax among them without fear, and he made the most of it. He even relished the anxiety of Jack’s brother. “It’s good for them to feel the way we do,” he thought, looking over toward the little table in the shadows.
But Glenn was no longer alone. He was talking to a petite, attractive blonde, who looked somehow familiar. . . . “Oh my God,” Robert said. “You better rescue him, Jack.” The blonde was leaning toward Glenn intimately with a cigarette between her lips, evidently asking for a light.
“Who is that?” Jack asked, peering. He had not brought his glasses. “I didn’t invite her.”
“It’s Frank!” Robert said.
Jack compressed his lips. “Really,” he said grimly. “Enough is enough.”

Continue

Dirty Dancing

This is post 30 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

The room filled. The D. J. began cranking the techno, mixing and sampling masterfully. Jack settled his brother at a table where he could sit, gripping his straight scotch apprehensively, and after a flattering toast over the mike by Sheba, Robert and Jack danced a tango specially mixed for them under Sheba’s direction.
Then everyone joined in (except the brother). There were all kinds: ballroom dancers spinning their partners around with ease, dirty dancers sinuously seducing, hip, athletic dancers with all the latest video moves, those who had never gotten past the basic two-step, and those who thrashed about in a wild orgiastic frenzy. They danced in pairs and in big circles or clumps, and some even danced by themselves. Frank got up on the bar and did a striptease down to his semi-transparent zebra-striped underwear, which would have come off too, had he not been helped down by Sheba; and then a couple of other guys from the music scene and one butch lesbian Jack knew from the German Department also danced on the bar in their own provocative fashion.
Jack was a good dancer. As with everything else he was good at, he had studied it, but Robert didn’t mind. Jack was tastefully eclectic, matching his practiced styles to the music. Robert, who had an easy gift for dance that had always been a marvel in his under-coordinated family, sometimes copied Jack’s moves, but more often blended his own grace with his partner’s, letting Jack lead, but occasionally embellishing—turning a simple dip into a bit of dirty dancing, or spicing up the tango with a little old-fashioned disco hustle.

Continue

Naughty Boy

This is post 29 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

The bartender busied himself, and Jack turned to greet his brother, who was straight and clutched him as if he were a life preserver. At the same time Frank turned to Robert, whom he was still holding close, and murmured, “Scored some X. See me later. Men’s room.”
Robert reached for his drink. “Oh Frank. You’re such a naughty boy.”
Frank winked and allowed his hand to drop down to Robert’s ass. “You don’t know the half of it.” And with a light squeeze he went off to resume his self-appointed role of greeter and announcer.

Continue

At the Grotto

This is post 28 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

The Grotto was an old warehouse in the restored waterfront area of Endersburg. The second floor, with a deck over the river added on, could be rented out for parties. Across the water were smoke stacks, and upstream the eerie illumination of a steel mill cast a fiery glow on the water. Downstairs there were lights, shiny accessories, and big-screen TV’s, but the upstairs interior featured exposed pipes and a mural heavy on phallic rocks, with Sapphic mermaids and well-endowed sailors discovered (separately) in compromising positions.
Robert and Jack were welcomed in a mellifluous bass by Sheba (as in Queen of), an enormous, very dark-skinned African American who presided over the proceedings like a benevolent fairy godmother, but was more than capable of handling any “unpleasantness,” as “she” invariably called it. They had invited all of their gay friends, as well as, in what Jack insisted was a courtesy, Robert’s father and Jack’s brother. As Sheba bore away their coats and umbrella, they could see that a few of the guests were already there, although the D. J. was still setting up in the booth.
Frank in particular made a point of greeting them and drawing them into the center of the group. He was small and Puckish, with mischievous, catlike green eyes and a nearly pentagonal face surmounted by spiky ginger hair. He put one arm around Robert’s waist and the other around Jack’s and propelled them toward the bar, enveloping them, as he did so, in a cloud of “Moi” cologne. “Make way! Make way for the Queens of the Night!” he announced. “What’s your pleasure, gentlemen? Wait! Don’t tell me! One sloe gin fizz—with paper umbrella—and one very dry martini without, please.”

Continue

Featuring Gay Versions of Kenneth Starr and James Dobson

This is post 27 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

It was raining. Robert got raincoats and an umbrella out of the closet, clattering unnecessarily, Jack thought. “If you don’t have faith in action, what do you have faith in?” Robert asked as they left. “If anything.”
“Could I take the fifth on that?”
“Not unless you want to spend our honeymoon being investigated by the gay version of Kenneth Starr.”
“Oh well, then. Pretty traditional stuff, really. God, family, love—agape AND eros, before you jump all over me.”
They were silent as they rode down in the elevator with a straight couple whom they often saw around. The woman smiled timidly, the man pretended not to see them.
Once they were alone again, Robert said slowly, “So, what you’re telling me is, you’re not my father but some sort of gay James Dobson?”
Jack slammed the door of Robert’s little white Maxima. “Christ, Robert. What are you, central casting? You want to know what faith means to me? It means I don’t have to play to the critics. Including you.”

Continue

Performing Gayneth

This is post 26 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

Jack gazed at the full-length mirror reflecting Robert’s golden hair nestling against his chestnut. “Leaving aside the question of who’s the right kind, do you have faith in the arts, Rob?”
Robert shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pressed against Jack’s body. “I decided a long time ago to do, not to think.”
Jack repressed the impulse to say, “Like your mother.” “That goes for everything?” he asked, rising, but holding Robert’s hand.
“Yes.”
“So you’d like me not just to be gay, but to perform my gayneth?” He executed a clumsy arabesque, duly reproduced by the mirror.
Robert refused to crack a smile. “Tonight, anyway, if it’s not too much to ask,” he said petulantly.

Continue

Bennett's Good Points

This is post 25 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Where is all this heterophobia coming from all of a sudden?” Jack faced Robert and put his hands on his shoulders.
Robert looked him in the eye. “I’m no heterophobe. But you’re right. I probably am afraid of being my parents. Who wouldn’t be? And you know why you’re not afraid?”
“They’re not my parents?”
Robert pushed him off and sat heavily on the bed. “You already are my father. Look at yourself if you don’t believe me. I’m marrying my father, God help me.” He sagged forwards, pulling his hands down his cheeks and creating a ghoulish effect.
Jack sat next to him and draped an arm over his shoulders. “Maybe we are a little alike, but is that so awful? He has his good points.”
“Name one.”
“Let’s see . . . ”
“Don’t take all night.”
“He likes the arts.”
“The established ones,” Robert said, grudgingly.
“He likes me.”
“Yes. You’re the first thing I’ve done in my whole life he’s approved of. I’m not sure it’s a point in your favor.”
“He didn’t approve of your landing Principal Clarinet in the symphony?”
“Not exactly. You see, according to him the clarinet had Pied-Pipered me away from the straight life. His attitude was, if I had to be a clarinetist I should be Principal Clarinet in a good orchestra, but if I really wanted to go places, law school was the ticket.”
“He wanted you to sell out? I don’t believe it.”
“Oh no—all good causes, all good causes. It’s tragic, really. He lost his faith in the arts. He still thinks they have something to say; it’s just that he doesn’t believe enough people of the right kind are listening.”

Continue

The Gay Thing

This is post 24 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

But when Robert emerged from the bathroom in a soft, loose, lavender silk shirt and artfully faded black jeans, he had been thinking.
“Damn it, Jack, ‘natty’ is not a compliment.”
“No?”
“No. Natty doesn’t do it.”
“It?”
“It. Us. The gay thing.”
“Back to that again, are we?”
“Yes we are. Don’t you remember when we planned this, Jack? Tonight was supposed to be for us. Tomorrow we play for the straights.”

Continue

Conflict Renewed

This is post 23 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

But after dinner conflict was renewed.
“So you’re wearing that?” Robert asked, playfully flipping up the rear flap of Jack’s sports jacket.
“Sorry. Leather g-string’s at the cleaner’s. Besides, I forgot to get my ass tattooed.”
Robert backed up to get a better look. “It’s all right,” he said, drumming his fingers meditatively against his lower lip. “Natty.”
“Glad you approve.”

Continue

Prenuptial Jitters

This is post 22 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Oh yeah,” Robert said. “You can dish, but can you swish?”
“That’s rather clever, enfant,” Jack said, pausing coffee cup in hand. “Your own?”
“No, Frank’s.”
“About what you’d expect from a piccolo player.”
“Hmm.” Robert sipped his latte.
“Anyway, this isn’t really about my insecurities; it’s about yours.”
“Come again, Herr Freud?”
“You fear—not commitment, maybe—but let’s call it domestic life. The quotidian ‘Whose turn is it to make dinner?’ and ‘How was your day, chéri?’ and ‘Guess who I saw at the health club?’ In a word, becoming your parents.”
“My parents wouldn’t know a health club if it bit them in the gluteus,” said Robert, reaching for the paper. Then he paused, reflectively. “Still, there may be something in what you say.” He looked up, putting his hand to his cheek and widening his eyes in a frightened manner. “Tell me, Doktor. Vat can I do about zees feelings?”
Jack looked at his watch. “Sorry—our time is up. But I sink you must never overcome your transference.”
They kissed briefly; then Jack went off to the library and Robert took out his clarinet.

Continue

Trouble in Paradise*

This is post 21 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

*This post contains foul language.

It had not been such a wonderful day chez Robert and Jack, either.
“I cannot believe you invited my father to the bachelor party,” Robert said at breakfast. “If I weren’t positive he’d never show, I’d call the whole thing off.”
“Which would be just fine with me,” Jack snapped. “I’ve never been one for the club scene.”
“Are you calling me a tramp?” Robert raised one eyebrow archly.
“If the mattress fits. . . . Pass the preserves, please.”
Robert shot the jar across the table. “You don’t have to come, you know. You could stay here—in the closet.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying that. I am so out. I belong to every gay organization there is.”
“That proves nothing. Anyone can write a check.”
“I never knew before that my sexual orientation was some sort of test. Tell me, Robert, what do I have to do to score true faggot status?”
“Stop using that word, for starters. You know I hate that word.”
“Ponce? Pansy? Pantywaist? Pouf? Queen? Queer—as a two-dollar bill? Ho-mo-sexual?”
Robert shook his head, but Jack went on, “Cock sucker? Fudge packer?”
“Stop it,” Robert said coldly. “You’re just proving my point. Dripping with self-hatred.”
“On the contrary, it’s you who dare not speak the name.”

Continue

Sensitive Bennett

This is post 20 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

All hope of turning swords into ploughshares seemed gone for the nonce. Bennett did not feel equal to the Austen volume, and did not immediately resume the comparison of Cincinnatus and Washington. Instead, he gazed at the window, where the deepening night mingled with the reflection of his study, seemingly warm and bright. His reverie was interrupted by Gwen. “Exactly what have you done now, Ed? Chloe’s up there sobbing hysterically, and Lizzy says she hates you and wants to go home. You know she’s supposed to be the ring bearer this weekend. Maybe I have to accept that you’re never going to get up out of your chair and fight against injustice, but I’m damned if I’ll let you perpetrate it in this house!”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bennett snapped, and picked up his notes so violently that a few other items on the table, including a card with a picture of two deer being intimate, fluttered to the floor. Stiffly, he retrieved it as Gwen watched, making no move to assist.
“I’m talking about people in pain, Ed,” she said coldly. “People suffering, and all you can do is moon around in here, nattering on about some dead white European male who probably made his wife, children, and slaves equally unhappy.”
Bennett stood irresolutely, fingering the card. Then he straightened, and the gleam in his eye took Gwen aback as he brushed by her and started almost briskly up the stairs. “Ed—Ed—what are you doing? For God’s sake, don’t make things any worse.”
He leaned over the banister, waving the card at her. “I’m off to pamper my inner child, Gwen. And be a sensitive, caring dad to my queer son. I thought you’d approve.” He continued up the stairs, leaving her gaping.

Continue

Bennett in the Dog House

This is post 19 of Section III. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here. Section III begins here.

“Daddy, I think you owe us an apology.”
He slapped the book down on the little table and took off his glasses. “Ah hell, sweetheart. You know I’m sorry. Your mother said we ought to—spend some time with Lizzy, and I was only trying to—”
“Don’t swear in front of my daughter, and don’t you dare try to pin this on Mom.”
“I’m not,” he interrupted. “It’s just that she and I both happened to notice that Lizzy was spending an awful lot of time on that computer—”
“Oh, so now I’m a bad mother because I don’t hit my child over the head and drag her kicking and screaming all over town? Do you know that Lizzy has a lump on her head the size of a—well I can feel it, anyway. And even if I am a bad mom, it’s your fault, you—emotional avoidant!”
“You’re mean. You made Mommy cry,” Lizzy said, and then followed Chloe up to her room.

Continue