“Stop being so stubborn!” My mother’s hand hit the dining room table with a crack.

“Me? I’m being stubborn? Okay.” My father rolled his eyes and gave an empty chuckle. “That’s rich.”

“Stop laughing at me! I swear to God . . . "

“Be reasonable-”

“I AM being reasonable! You’re being an asshole.”

I didn’t want to eat anymore. I was stuffed to the gills with pain and bile. I concentrated on my plate, using my fork to move a spear of broccoli from one side to the other. I hated when they were like this. At least other families could blame alcohol for their dysfunctionality. I was painfully aware that this was all my fault. If I had never been born, they would have never married. Both of then had reminded me repeatedly that I was the only thing that kept them together. I used to think that was a good thing.

“Look, you’re making Carrie cry!”

I wasn’t crying. They were just saying that to hurt each other.

“Me? You’re the one that’s upsetting her. Go on Carrie, tell mommy how much of a bitch she’s being.”