Hey, remember when you’d laugh your heart out with my silly jokes and ask Mom to slice your cookie in half so I’d have more than yours because you knew I loved them and play tea party with me when my best friend Madeline couldn’t come? What about that summer break when you got home screaming my name, and I rolled on the ground, clutching my stomach after you punched my gut because you found out I liked Joanna and you glared at me and prodded your finger on my chest until it turned red? Do you remember when you called me a blasphemy in the flesh, before taking me by the scruff of my neck and pressing my cheeks between your fingers, your nails sinking into my skin, saying that word with sheer disgust in your eyes? You refused to talk to me for weeks over dinner until my birthday when I blew the candles and a slap landed on my cheek because you told Dad about it and Mom sat still, her hands clasped in prayer as tears cascaded down the hollows of her collarbone, calling me names other than sweet Marty, darling princess. You tugged the hem of my shirt and locked me in the closet when they left for work, making me swear never to tell anyone about it, or else my classmates and Madeline would call me that word, too so I scooted to the edge of the closet for as long as I could remember? What do you mean no?
