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teenager and I was the exhausted twenty-year-old pretending I knew how to be his parent.
I wiped my palms on my dress and cleared my throat. “Fine, but if I cry, this is on you.”
There were chuckles and a few playful “awws.” I looked around the room—faces I’d known my whole life, coworkers, neighbors, Donna leaning in the doorway with shining eyes.
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