EXPECTANT MOTHERHOOD

I don’t like them or my brother. My children don’t like me.

I count the affronts, mindful not to give up all my views. I’d rather contort my guts. Conditions are somewhat unfavorable, despite strengths. I’d feel so much better if Brucie influenced me.

There is a side to me they have not been exposed to. I mention this. They take up their tasks. In short, my daughter told me to wait a minute, that she’d join me.

I said, “No!”

She put her head back and closed her coat at the neck. “I wonder if you realize…” she said. It took me a moment to.

Everyone else was hurrying. We stood. She was leaning against the mantelpiece. “Why are you so unpleasant?”

I answered, “I don’t wish you well.”

I threw my gloves on the floor and my hat. I had been wearing my dark blue coat. Drops of moisture were on our windows, and fog. We are a family. There’s a point to it and to the dimmer switch in the foyer. The next thing—my daughter was stepping along the corridor and out the door. I seriously did not think I was in the state I describe as reserved for me.