Our silence was not a hindrance to her ranting.
“She claimed she was far too otherwise occupied, but I know better.” Mother threw down the envelope in her hand and turned to my father as if she would stab him with the jewel-encrusted opener still in her hand. “I am not fully accepted; we are not fully accepted.”
So it went, another breakfast, another meal trapped in the cage of my mother's tantrums.
Her rant lasted nearly an hour. My father and I suffered in silence. Our appetites diminished as her shrill grew sharper. Only my brother fed her obsession, for he too seemed to be growing as obsessed. He played tennis and polo, belonged to all the right clubs. He was handsome as ever, there can be no doubt, perhaps more so as his face cut with the sharpness of manhood. Something had changed
