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Your Zee
Tina had a guest for dinner. Although she was two-and-a-half years younger, she had guests. Guys who visited me were just Dave’s friends even when Mom fed them. Anyway, Zee was not entirely awful. She didn’t giggle, she didn’t simper, and her hair was long and clean and black. I was polite to her, having had that fight with Mom before. After dinner, it was raining. Dad drove Zee home. “Zee, dear?” Mom asked when they were out the door. “Please, Mom, don’t call her Zenobia. She hates that. Her...