Life was going on, and no one but a handful of people cared if I lived or died.

My mother isn't crazy. She simply has a harder time than most reconciling her reality with everyone else's reality.

Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt some sort of dominance foreplay?

Married pixy, I told myself, forcing my eyes back to the shelf of ceramic animals. Fifty-four kids. Beautiful wife, sweet as sugar, who would kill me in my sleep while apologizing for it.

I sat for a moment, figuring things out, then decided to stay there. If I was on the floor, I couldn't fall down.

Rachel, you take her,” my mother said, clearly uncomfortable. “She might like you.” “No. Mom, no!” I protested, but it was my mother we were talking about, and it was either take the baby or have her hit the floor.

Inside Junior's it was peaceful. I can change that, I thought dryly.