it hurts

I WAS MAKING HAMBURGERS FOR DINNER. DEAN, MY STEPDAD, loves hamburgers, although I wasn’t making his favorite out of a deep devotion for the guy. Grease kept spraying up from the frying pan, burning my hands, like tiny electrical shocks. It was a small price to pay. Once I got him fed, I could retreat to my room, like always, where he’d leave me alone for the rest of the night.

When the meat was done, I put the patties and buns on two plates, then rushed around grabbing the chips, a Coke for me, and a beer for him.

“Dinner’s ready,” I called.

“Good....