Читать книгу Suzanne - Anais Barbeau-Lavalette - Страница 10

It’s cold. We skate holding hands because I’m not a good skater and because we need to. The canal is long and empty. The smooth ice belongs to us. The cold is biting and brings us back to life.

My mother’s phone rings. It’s you. You tell her not to do that again. You tell her you never want to see us again. Ever.

My mother hangs up. It’s not the first time she has had to swallow rejection. All the past ones are still there. Stuck in her throat.

She has learned not to choke on them, but just barely.

She doesn’t say a word, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. We hold on to each other.

I hate you. I should have told you so to your face.

On the train, I fall asleep against my mother, who is smaller than me.