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My grandfather—Grandpa Scott,
he said to call him—has announced
that it’s time to eat. We all gather
at the table, which has two large
folding tables placed at one
end, and still we’ll all barely fit.
Once everyone has found a seat,
two chairs are too obviously empty.
Hunter goes to the door, calls loudly,
Kristina! We’re all at the table.
Are the two of you planning to join
us? Room service is closed.
His voice carries thinly veiled anger,
and his girlfriend shoots a warning
glance that says, Watch your temper.
Earlier, I heard Hunter talking
to Grandma Marie. Why is Kristina
outside? he asked. Why isn’t she
with her kids? Why can’t she just
act like a mom? Doesn’t she care
about them? Doesn’t she love them?
Grandma answered right
away, as if she’d thought about
the question many times before.
I think she wants to love them.
Wants to love all of you. But
she can’t. I told you how meth
eats into the brain. Well, the part
that gets chewed away is
the part that lets people love.
