me in it, weaponized it, turned it into an art form.
So I gave him nothing. I stood up slowly, deliberately, smoothing the front of my thrift-store blazer—the one he’d mocked, the one my aunts had clucked their tongues at, whispering that I’d dragged it off some bargain rack because I lacked taste and ambition. I didn’t look at the gallery of relatives.continue reading …
