She didn’t say anything. I was convinced she was going to scream and to cry, just like she had every other time we’d had this argument. We’d hurl insults back and forth at each other like hot potatoes. She’d throw something at me, a book or a plate or on one memorable occasion, a chair. I’d storm off and that’s how we survived. It’s what we did every time.
But not this time.
“You’re just like your mother.” That’s what got her so riled up. She hates being compared to her mother. A long, convoluted family history involving her parents split. All of the siblings had dealt with it a different way. The eldest had turned to the wine, the youngest dived into the military and she, the middle child, had chosen to run away. She’d gone to university on the other side of the country, then spent a few years the other side of the world. Where she’d met me.
The room fell silent after I made that comment, as if even the electrical hum realised what a mistake I had just made. But sh e said nothing. Not a damn word. She just turned around, grabbed her cup of tea,then walked out.
I’m still waiting for her to come back.
The Idiot in Tin Foil