Free The Stories We Tell by Patti Callahan Henry

pull his skin tight to close the wound, yanking at his face and causing his cheek to slant upward. An oval of sheared skin shines from behind his ear.
    I hold my face still, taking in a long breath and walking closer to him. “It’s an injury. It will heal.”
    He replaces the tape and bandage just as Gwen enters the kitchen. The doorbell rings—delivery guy with the Chinese food—and I pay, carrying the brown paper bags to the table, where we all sit together.
    â€œDoes it hurt?” Gwen asks her dad, sidling up to the table.
    â€œYes,” he says. “Like hell. It has its own heartbeat.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Dad.”
    And there we sit at the table, the three of us, my family, silently eating fried rice and kung pao chicken.
    â€œGreat home-cooked meal for family dinner night,” Gwen finally says, scraping her fork across her plate.
    â€œThanks,” I say. “I worked hard at it.”
    Gwen smiles, grateful, I believe, for a sarcastic reply instead of a reprimand.
    â€œI bought sea bass and then left it in the car too long.”
    â€œSea bass?” Cooper stops eating.
    There’s a thing in marriage—a secret code used in front of kids and others. Words can be said and only the spouse knows the true meaning. So if the sentence was dictated and put on paper, the utterings would be harmless, unless of course you knew what the spouse was really saying. And this is what Cooper is really saying: You bought expensive fish from the best market in town and let it go bad?
    Then I get to choose: Do I answer the asked question or the real question? I choose the asked. “Yes, sea bass.”
    â€œMy favorite,” Gwen says.
    â€œI know. That’s why I got it. Sorry, Pea.”
    She shrugs. “It’s okay.” She hesitates, her fork in the air. “Can I please go back to see Aunt Willa tonight? I can hardly stand thinking about her alone in the hospital.…”
    I look to Cooper. “What do you think?”
    â€œNo,” Cooper says. “You’re grounded for sneaking out.” He glances from Gwen to me and then again at Gwen. “Does anyone remember that part of the night? Sneaked out with her boyfriend? Am I the only one who thinks she shouldn’t go out?”
    â€œIt’s my sister in the hospital,” I say. “That’s not going out.”
    â€œThen you take her,” he says. “Because I don’t trust her with the car.”
    Gwen stifles a cry and stands quickly, so her chair falls backward, hitting the ground with a crack. “You hate me.”
    â€œNo, I don’t. I love you and want to keep you safe.” Cooper’s voice is low and tired, an admission and an accusation combined. “And while we’re talking about this, I need you to hand over the credit card. You’ve abused its purpose, which was only for emergencies.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Gwen asks.
    â€œThe shopping. The clothes. Restaurants and movies. If you want to spend that kind of money, you need to get a job.”
    â€œWhat is going on?” Gwen covers her face. “Aunt Willa is, like, totally unconscious or something and you’re worried about me going to too many movies? This is insane.”
    I want to step into the conversation, to ease the tension and clear the air. But the lost sleep finally catches me and is wrestling me to the ground. I stand also. “Let’s all just get a good night’s sleep and start over tomorrow.”
    â€œâ€˜Start over’?” Gwen asks. “As if Aunt Willa can start over tomorrow?”
    I reach for my daughter and place my hand on her arm. “I mean us, baby. I mean us.”
    â€œWill you please take me to see her?” Gwen asks. “Or please let me take the car.”
    â€œIf I drive now,” I say, “it would be about as good as driving drunk. So you can take my car. But to the hospital and home. That’s