“Speak into the mic, love,” my mom said.My father passed me the small microphone that linked directly into my mom’s hearing aids. I held my breath a moment, it stopped the spin of the vertigo, then rubbed the back of my head in the hopes of quieting the pain. What a pair we are, I thought as my heart, in this new manifestation of myself, fired too quickly. Both of us disinherited from the world we had once known. Both of us, I imagined, scared and lonely. I certainly was. But my parents were English, and we didn’t talk about difficult or unpleasant emotions unless forced to – and we could withstand a lot of force.I furrowed my concentration towards the menu.
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