“She hadn’t even graduated from college, from what she could tell. And forget her painting, her photography. The only pictures on the wall were cheesy oils one might pick up at a discount art store. Stepping on the scale had made her march down to the kitchen and pull out the tortilla chips, the ice cream, the Oreos, and the Nutty Bars and throw them in the trash. She did notice that Kirby came along behind her, fished out the ice cream, and stuck it in the basement deep-well freezer. Fine. Carr...ot sticks and salad for her. Now she stood at the stove, separating egg yolks from the whites, a pan heating on one burner, a teakettle on the other. A couple pieces of lightly buttered wheat bread lay on a plate. She’d found the loaf shoved way back in the freezer, as if her old self had briefly resurrected and made a feeble attempt at healthy eating. She hadn’t bothered to figure out the coffeemaker—even when Kirby came out of his room yesterday morning inquiring about a cup of coffee on his way to school.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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