Chapter 26 - THE CHICKEN THIGH
Evan was nine when he asked the question.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you put chicken in Diane’s mouth?”
I stopped washing dishes.
He remembered.
Of course.
Children do not forget on our preferred schedule.
“I wanted her to feel humiliated.”
“Because she did me?”
“Yes.”
“Did it work?”
“Probably.”
“Then why bad?”
There.
The difficult question.
“Because hurting someone successfully does not make hurting them right.”
He leaned against the counter.
“She hurt you too?”
“Seeing you hurt me emotionally.”
“Then you wanted revenge.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Do you still?”
“No.”
“Really?”
I thought.
“Sometimes I still get angry. But I do not want to hurt her.”
“That class help?”
“Anger class?”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
“Annoyingly.”
He laughed.
Then:
“Can we make chicken tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
He helped season it.
Paprika.
Garlic.
Salt.
Too much pepper because nine-year-olds cannot be trusted.
When it came out of the oven, he chose a thigh.
Nobody watched.
Nobody waited for permission from the head of a family.
May you like
Dinner did not belong to the loudest adult.
It belonged to the people eating it.
