I Wanted Someone to Tell Me to Go Upstairs

Dear Delyara, I wanted somebody else to look at my face, the way I was moving, the effort it was taking to answer normal questions in a normal tone, and say, “Go upstairs. I’ve got this.” That sentence never came. So I kept doing what women do. Clearing. Answering. Remembering. Holding the shape of the evening together while quietly getting smaller inside it. And the whole time, what I wanted most was permission I shouldn’t still need.