No Longer Your Perfect Husband

e phone. I was standing in my newly painted kitchen, the smel

-like. "She's refusing to eat. She says she on

rse. It wasn't about me.

om a restaurant,

version." There was a hint of frustration in her vo

said. "But it's pr

you talk

child to eat all the time. You should be feeding her more vegetables," I said, the wo

hrown off. "Well, what am I

she wants. It's called parenting." I offered a solution. "There are plenty of h

t! Can't you just tell me

N

just a recipe,

on't want to

own shack your parents left you? I saw the pictures

e of my place. A few months ago, they wou

note of pride in my voice that

. "How can you be happy there? Where a

I said. "And don't ca

an,

ung

nto my phone's settings and blocked her number. I blocked her pare

over me. The connectio

rocking chair I'd found in the attic. As I wo

He could turn a rough piece of wood into something beautiful and functional

ncouraged my art. My mother would frame my clumsy childhood drawings and hang them

at college. A drunk driver ran a

chool, though they had drifted apart as their fortunes diverged. They presente

's List every semester. They were pro

uneral. She had been "sent home" from her European

ity and disdain. I was the charity c

e altar in a rented tuxedo, feeling like an actor in a play I hadn't rehearsed. Olivia looked beau

felt more at home than I ever had in that sterile

lasted for

from a number I didn't recognize. It

ller?" she asked,

es

a Lily Davies. There's been an accident. Y

tilted o

pened? Is

he's in surgery now. Sir