Sometimes I feel like I’m ten again, a child they expect to behave in predictable ways
I’m not making small talk with her now, no way. I’m on edge already, keeling over under the weight of everyone else’s glares, the constant unspoken warning of move on already. I just hug Faigy and watch my little ones play.
“How’ve you been, Malky?” Rus says finally. “Ma says your upsheren was nice.”
“It was just cake and friends.” I’d wanted to rent a bouncy house, something a little more exciting than the swing set, but it had been just after we’d bought the new car. “Nothing special.”
“Those are the only things the kids really care about,” Rus offers. “One of our neighbors brought in a petting zoo for the kids. But realistically, these are three-year-olds. They’re going to have a good time as long as there’s cake.”
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