My Cardboard Balcony

Dependence by Belinda Roddie It starts when you cry over a spilled bowl of macaroni and cheese, and only a mother's hug can stop the tears. It ends with your hands shaking over your sleeping wife's body, because she's turned on her side, fetal position, and won't let you touch her because she's too warm. And the cold is starting to settle in your bones because you've required hot splints to hold them up this whole time, and now that the ice is thickening in your veins, you feel fragile, and no amount of mother's embraces will save you from your knees giving out.

"Joel, why is there an entire swordfish in the freezer?" " 'Cause I bought it," my nephew grunted from the living room, where he was playing the newest Call of Duty game. "Okay," I muttered, "I figured you had bought it. But why?" "I think the question is where, not why," my sister cut in, grinning over the lip of her beer bottle. "From the local market," Joel replied. "And because I want to try swordfish."