Later, while I’m having my massage, I think about everything that has happened over the past few days: Dad and Craig’s argument and the broken glass on the kitchen floor, walking in on Dad and Craig while they were having s*x, Dad grilling me over whether or not he should get married again, the confrontation with Ken at the gas station, Dad’s accusation that I hit Craig on purpose to get back at him. My mind is filled with this series of unfortunate events. That, combined with the supposedly soothing pan flute music that’s playing, makes me cry.
Thankfully, I’m face-down, and my face is obscured by the donut part of the massage table so the therapist working on me can’t actually see the tears rolling down my cheeks. I’m not usually a crier and I hate losing it front of other people, but w
