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“”Mom, dad… I think I might be gay.” I watch as the butter knife slips from my ever-graceful mother’s hold and clatters loudly onto the her plate. Next to her, my father scrunches up the newspaper in his hand as he chokes on his morning coffee, black drops staining the brown tablecloth. I hope it will wash out.”

Published: 9/2/2014
Ending: Memory’s Crannies

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