Photo by Alvin Engler on Unsplash
by Elisabeth Meyer Gonzalez
No one ever came out and said not to tell grandma and grandpa that mom and dad were having an open marriage until they could afford a divorce. We just knew not to. We knew not to mention to anyone that dad drank three six packs and listened to Barry Manilow until he cried when mom was out. We knew to be discreet with the food stamps at the grocery store, especially if we ran into a neighbor. We knew it was morally wrong to let the grass grow too long and that dandelions needed to be dug up before they went to seed even though we enjoyed rubbing them on each other’s chins while asking “Do you like butter.” We knew that forks were placed on a carefully folded napkin to the left of the plate and glasses went on the right, and we knew to always use a coaster because water rings were nearly impossible to hide.
Elisabeth Meyer Gonzalez lives in upstate New York with her family. She has published in Ruby Literary Press, The Best American Food and Travel Writing (forthcoming), and was shortlisted for Smokelong Quarterly’s Flash Fiction contest, 2025.
