I walked out of the bathroom into my bedroom and he was there, lying on the bed like he belonged there. My body was stricken with paralysis even as my mind skyrocketed into hyperdrive.
“I’m back,” he declared as though he expected me to throw confetti and blow New Year’s Eve party horns.
For some reason, his mother was lying beside him – they were lying on their stomachs, heads at the foot of the bed, propped up on their elbows watching my TV in my bedroom like it was the most normal thing in the world.
He stood suddenly and I told him he couldn’t be here and so we argued. I had to express my anger a bit and then capitulate. That was our usual pattern and he expected everything to be the same. To do anything else would heighten his attention to detail. I was trying to…
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