“You know what I think?” I shouted. “I think you like it when I don’t have friends because then all I have is you, and it’s just you and me against the world. And maybe that’s why you want us to leave again because I’m finally happy, Mom, I’m happy! But maybe you’d rather I be miserable, like you. So instead, we’re going to keep moving and twenty years from now, I’ll be a total loser who still lives at home with you, but maybe that’s what you want. Because it’s the only way you’ll have a piece of Dad with you forever.”
By now tears were rolling down my face, and I must’ve looked totally pathetic in my rocket-ship pajamas with one testicle peeping through, but I was beyond caring. Then I saw that my mom was crying too.
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
Maybe it was, but I couldn’t help it. The words just came flooding out, words that had been there, hiding, for a long, long time. “I think you’ve gotten so used to being miserable, it’s just easier to stay that way. It’s just easier not to trust anyone, to just keep to yourself and drink too much wine all the time. And I feel sorry for Dad because it must make him so sad to see what a bitter bitch you’ve become.”
She slapped me hard across the face.
I was going to make a run for the door, but even though I was more emotional than I’d ever been in my whole life, I still had enough sense to remember that a) I was in my pajamas and b) that you could see one of my nuts. So instead I ran into my bedroom, which was anticlimatic since I didn’t have a door and beads don’t slam.” (220-1)