My mother was standing before the stove stirring something in a pot with a wooden spoon and singing along to Captain and Tennille’s greatest hits when I walked into the kitchen. She kept that CD in heavy rotation throughout my childhood and I, unfortunately, knew all of the songs by heart.
“Hi, honey,” she said before kissing my cheek. She certainly wasn’t behaving like a woman who’d just found out her boyfriend had been cheating on her with her own son. She seemed happy and normal.
“Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes,” she said. “Do you want something to drink?”
Even though I desperately wanted a beer or a glass of anything alcoholic, I mumbled that I had to go to the bathroom and bolted upstairs. I did have to pee, but I was so nervous that it took me a few seconds to get my ju
