The truth was, I didn’t want to Isaac him. “To be fair to Monica,” I said, “what you did to her wasn’t very nice either.”
What’d I do to her?” he asked, defensive. “You know, going blind and everything.”
“But that’s not my fault,” Isaac said. “I’m not saying it was your fault. I’m saying it wasn’t nice.”
CHAPTER TEN
We could only take one suitcase. I couldn’t carry one, and Mom insisted that she couldn’t carry two,
so we had to jockey for space in this black suitcase my parents had gotten as a wedding present a million years ago,
a suitcase that was supposed to spend its life in exotic locales
but ended up mostly going back and forth to Dayton, where Morris Property, Inc., had a satellite office that Dad often visited.
I argued with Mom that I should have slightly more than half of the suitcase,
since without me and my cancer, we’d never be going to Amsterdam in the first place.
Mom countered that since she was twice as large as me and therefore required more physical fabric to preserve her modesty,
she deserved at least two-thirds of the suitcase. In the end, we both lost. So it goes.
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