Domestic Dynamics Portable | Melody Marks

The current point of contention was Chloe’s phone. David had run a screen-time report. The number, printed out and placed on the granite counter like a subpoena, was 11 hours and 42 minutes. A scarlet number.

David blinked. “What?”

“You want me to bond with her over… vinyl?” David said, a ghost of a smile appearing. melody marks domestic dynamics

She didn’t feel like a hero. She felt like a bridge. And bridges, by their very nature, are always walked upon. They carry the weight of everything above them, while the water rushes cold and fast below.

Chloe, arms crossed, didn’t look at her father. She looked at Melody. That look was a script they both knew by heart. It said: You understand me. He doesn’t. Fix it. The current point of contention was Chloe’s phone

“No,” he admitted, his voice losing its edge. “It was about a version of me they couldn’t see.”

“It’s an addiction,” David said, tapping the paper. “We’re not a democracy on this. She loses it at night. Full stop.” A scarlet number

Melody poured herself a cup of coffee. The steam fogged her glasses for a moment. She thought about the subtext. David’s subtext: I am losing control of my family. My role as the provider, the protector, means nothing if I can’t enforce a simple curfew. Chloe’s subtext: This screen is the only place where people like me. If you take it, you take my air.