My mother married my father because she was fainting in the streets with hunger. She told me this one morning as she was getting dressed when I asked her, again. I wanted a story about a moonlit proposal, maybe Guv down on one knee (hard as that was to picture) but got, instead, desperation. Trish leaned into the mirror as she spoke, applying lipstick, expertly smudging her darkened eyebrows. I had followed her into the bedroom, hoping to have her to myself.