store. Just buying the bags

l the toxic essence of the shellfish seeping through. My hands started to burn,

am. Every minute was a small act of self-torture. But I finished it. A huge, st

four, five... I counted the plates. My father, Andrew, Maria,

s no sea

f the food I'd made filled the house, but no o

recounting some story from her play. My father was laughing, a sound I hadn't heard directed at me in years. An

's mother, was th

You cooked! It s

lmost more painful

at me. My father' s expression wa

I said, my voice

attering and laughing, leaving me behind. I watc

y feasted on the meal that was blistering my skin. I could hear their lau

came into the kitchen. Her

you eating with us? T

nderstand. S

hungry,

g my arm gently. "Come on.

ced to pull up a spare chair from the corner, squeezing it in between him and his

minute when Maria suddenly gasped. She cl

hoked out, her voice raspy. "

s er

cking over his chair.

side. "An allergic rea

ryone's eyes, full of accusa

ed with rage. "You did this. You knew she

er favorite dish!" I sta

led, his hands clenched into fists. "

shook his head slowly, a look of profound disappointment on hi

, his voice cold and final. "Now