My fingers flew across the screen.
Hey
I just wanted to say I had a really nice time today. Your family is great.
Ok, well, it was a start, I guess. But now what?
They are, and you’re welcome.
You’re very lucky.
I feel like I am.
Your mom hugged me when we left tonight. Like a real hug.
She’s good at that.
Yeah.
I thought she was done, then three dots appeared again.
My mom doesn’t hug me like that.
I read that sentence three times, the words sitting heavy in my stomach.
How does she hug you?
She doesn’t. Not really. Sometimes she’ll do this weird side-pat thing if other people are around. But it’s for show.
I stared at the screen, trying to imagine hugging Alice or Audrey for “show.” The thought made bile rise in my throat. I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
That fucking sucks.
I’m used to it.
Well, for the record, you’re very huggable. And being used to something doesn’t make it okay.
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared. Disappeared. Finally:
No. I guess it doesn’t.
Another pause, and then…
Can I ask you something?
Always.
Do you think it’s normal for parents to not love their kids?
I sat up straighter against the headboard, my grip tightening on my phone.
No, sweetheart. That’s not normal at all.
What if the kid was difficult?
Kids are supposed to be difficult sometimes. That’s literally their job. Parents are supposed to love them anyway.
The typing indicator showed up and stayed for what felt like an eternity, until,
