Don’t Let Your Mother Answer for You
He was quiet for a bit.
Then he said he still wanted the chicken thing.
So we got the chicken thing, and he ate it, and he was subdued for about half of it and then he was eight again and told me at length about a dispute involving a boy called Marcus and a stolen pencil case, and I drove him home.
And at the door I told Jessi exactly what had happened, in front of him, all of it, including what he had said about me not being his dad, because Delia had told us both very early that the fastest way to teach a child that a subject is dangerous is to have the adults discuss it after he goes to bed.
Jessi listened, and then she said to him, “Was that a horrible afternoon?”
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