29

Everyone freezes. You could hear a pin drop in the room. But since there are no pins, we listen to Jersey’s ragged breathing instead.

My mom straightens up and glares at me, abandoning her efforts with Jersey.

“What?!” I say, probably too loudly. “What’d I do?”

She points at me. “You’re the one who taught him that filthy language.” “Bullshit. Dad did.”

My father’s eyes bulge out of his head and his hands fly up in surrender when my mom twists around to give him the dagger-eyes. “Hey … he didn’t learn anything from any of us he hasn’t already seen on TV. You know that, Viv. Just relax.”

She throws her hands up to rest on her hips.

I roll my eyes, knowing the poodle is about to hit the fan. Cardinal Rule #1 with my mom: Never EVER tell her to relax.

“Don’t you dare, George. You know very well that Quinlan runs around the house all day with asshole-this and asshole-that and fuck-a-box-of-fuck-this and fuck-a-box-of-fuck-that. Her mouth is pure gutter talk.”

I’m laughing silently with my