by Tara Lazar
My daughter married a particular kind of man — wealthy, but bourgeois; he owns his business and works with his hands, toils in dirt, sweats. He speaks without thinking first, he spews insults he finds amusing, yet you are the distasteful one should you disapprove of his humor. He buys $15,000 Jet Skis without consulting her, then crashes them in Atlantic City weekends of blackjack and binge drinking while she is left home to care for his four children. She cooks their meals, wipes their messes, soothes their tears and collapses, as fragile as a house of cards. I refuse to help; the sooner she learns what kind of man she married and leaves him, the better. I sit and wait for her call.
Tara Lazar, author of A Chance Encounter, will soon have short fiction published in Boston Literary Magazine.