Chapter 10
“You’re home early,” Dad said. He stood over the stove, heating up a can of chili, by the smell.
“I wasn’t hungry,” I answered curtly.
“You hungry now? I’ll fix you a grilled cheese.”
“No.”
I went into my room and shut the door. I didn’t want Dad to ask me more questions. He’d eventually get to some uncomfortable ones.
The noises of Dad eating dinner reached me through the thin walls. The scrape of a spoon in the bowl. A loud crunch or the Fritos chips Dad liked to add to chili. The glass clinking on the Formica countertop.
Then the inevitable happened. He knocked on my door.
My whole adult life—and a few years of my adolescence—I’d been fearing this.
As much as I tried to deceive myself, there was no coming back from this now. I had to tell him. If not, he’d figure it
