by Jimy Valenti
Back at the house, Bella and Sophie sat on the floor before the TV. They were watching Love Is Blind Denver. Bella was teaching Sophie who to root for, who to hate on. How to be a girl. Bella braided Sophie’s hair. They didn’t even turn to us as we set the KFC on the kitchen counter. They both looked happy. They both seemed fine.
Stevie and I ate standing up. The girls didn’t ask about the mud on my face or Stevie’s ripped jacket. They ate in front of the TV. I told you that I pick at that night from Weekends like a scab, but that’s not entirely true. A scab comes off eventually. It heals. This thing, my memories of her are more like an abscessed tooth. Something rotting inside. Something I have no control over. Stevie went on about the probation officer — Jenny was her name. Sophie caught on.
“Uncle Stevie, who’s Jenny?” she asked, rapt attention trained on the girls on the TV.
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