“I don’t want him in this house,” my mother said. It was within that month-long period after Thanksgiving and before Christmas, and she was talking about my boyfriend at the time.
Here’s the story: I met my boyfriend in a park in Chicago. I’d like to tell you that we met by chance, swimming in the lake, or through mutual friends, or at a bar. We didn’t.
I dreamed of tracing my fingers over the ridged edges of buttery Ritz crackers, of piling the neon yellow cheese and soft pink bologna into never-ending towers….