The Familiar Dark

Truth is, there's no good way to navigate being female in this world. If you speak out, say no, stand your ground, you're a bitch and a harpy, and whatever happens to you is your own fault. You had it coming. But if you smile, say yes, survive on politeness, you're weak and desperate. An easy mark. Prey in a world full of predators. There are no risk-free options for women, no choices that don't come back to smack us in the face.

Because that's the one thing women are never, ever allowed to be. We can be sad, distraught, confused, pleading, forgiving. But not furious. Fury is reserved for other people. The worst thing you can be is an angry woman, an angry mother

Little girls were never safe. I should know; I used to be one of them.

Had lost my virginity at thirteen to one of my mom’s boyfriends. Not rape, exactly. More of a lazy kind of coercion—come on, baby, you know you want to, I’ll make it good—where

As if not being able to have more kids she couldn’t afford and didn’t want to take care of was the great tragedy of her life.

It had always been the apartment of a family who only escaped true poverty through sheer stubbornness and the generosity of others. Others

The vow came too fast, too easily. The kind of promise it’s easy to make because you’ve already broken it before the words are even spoken. It was the first time he’d ever lied to me.

I thought about all the press conferences I'd seen over the years, parents trotted out for missing kids, killed kids, abused kids. Everyone feels sorry for those parents, those mothers, until they don't. Until the mothers don't cry enough or cry to much. Until the mother are too put-together or not put-together enough. Until the mothers are angry. Because that's the one thing women are never, ever allowed to be. We can be sad, distraught, confused, pleading, forgiving. But not furious. Fury is reserved for other people. The worst thing you can be is an angry woman, and angry *mother*.

Life was never fair. I knew that better than anyone

That fundamental instinct to always watch your own back, never trust anyone, never let your guard down.

I’d had the same thoughts the first time I’d held her. I’d wanted to roll her into a ball and pop her into my mouth, swallow her back down into my belly, where she’d been protected. Keep her there, where I could stand between her and the world’s shadows. Maybe somehow I’d known, even then, what was waiting for her. Or maybe I just didn’t know how to hope for the best. God knows I’d never been taught.

Maggie glanced at me, something timeless and weary passing between us. The world might be changing in some places, but not here. Here it was still the same old merry-go-round of drugs and poverty and women being chewed up and spit out by men. People in other worlds could wear black evening gowns and give speeches about equality and not backing down, but out here in the trenches, we fought our war alone and we lost the battles every day.

I hadn’t had more than that single sip of beer last night, but my whole body throbbed like I was nursing the world’s worst hangover. Even my skin ached. Maybe it was grief, oozing out through my pores. My body had suffered when Junie came into the world. It seemed only fitting that it suffered when she left.

Lo cierto es que no hay forma fácil de ser una mujer en este mundo. Si te expresas, si dices que no, si te mantienes firme, entonces eres una bruja y una arpía y todo lo que te pase es merecido. «Te lo has ganado a pulso». Pero si sonríes, dices que sí, sobrevives a base de buenos modales, eres débil y estás desesperada. Un blanco fácil. Una presa en un mundo de depredadores. No hay opciones seguras para las mujeres, no hay decisiones que no terminen volviéndosenos en contra.

Truth is, there’s no good way to navigate being female in this world. If you speak out, say no, stand your ground, you’re a bitch and a harpy, and whatever happens to you is your own fault. You had it coming. But if you smile, say yes, survive on politeness, you’re weak and desperate. An easy mark. Prey in a world full of predators. There are no risk‑free options for women, no choices that don’t come back to smack us in the face. Junie hadn’t learned that yet. But she would have, eventually. We all do, one way or the other.

You either fought back or you surrendered. And no daughter of hers was going to surrender. No daughter of hers was going to lie down and take it. Not if she had anything to say about it.

Junie dead, Junie killed, would always be the worst thing of all.

The disaster I’d been anticipating from the second Junie was born. And I had never even seen it coming.