You should not laugh, but you do.
The fourth call comes from Patricia.
You reject it without listening. She calls again, then sends a voice note that opens with your name in that syrupy, disapproving tone she uses when she wants to sound like maturity itself. You don’t play it. You already know the shape of it. A combination of concern, superiority, and blame arranged like flowers over a grave she absolutely dug herself.
By three in the afternoon, Emilio’s texts have evolved.
At first he sounds annoyed. Then bewildered. Then offended. You really left because of one comment? You’re being dramatic. We can talk like adults. Then comes the one that makes your jaw tighten. Mom is upset and embarrassed. You could at least answer for that.
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