My dad sets his coffee mug down with an uncharacteristic sigh, his fingers pressed tight against the porcelain as he looks across the kitchen island at me. The silence is unusually heavy. "Megara," he starts, as I finish my last piece of egg and toast.
Mom gets up and clears the breakfast wares and Liz sips on her peppermint tea. She joined us this weekend and I am joyous about it. "We need to know what is going on with you. You are being strange and-" Then all three stare at me- again because they were being weird during breakfast.
"Me wanting to spend time with my family is weird to you?"
"We-ll no- yes," my mother begins and finishes lamely then Liz attempts to pick up where she left off.
"What we mean is- you seem very moody-"
