Cookies

"You're a frig!" she yelled at the frightened and withdrawn child. "You make me sick."
The child knew at a young age that 'frig' was her mother's word for 'f*ck'. And the word 'f*ck' was one of the worst swear words ever. The child did not understand how she could make her mother sick. 

Sometimes on a Saturday, we made cookies.

"Where were you?" she screamed at the teen. "I was worried sick about you!" Curses followed in a rapid-fire linear equation.
"I told you the school fair was today after school."
"No. You. Did. Not."
The teen held out a cheap trinket that some teacher had suggested she purchase for her mother.
All smiles then.

They were sugar cookies. With icing.

"Go downstairs and apologize to [step-father]. [Step-father] does not remember last night."
The teen stared at her mother from her bed.
"No. I will not apologize. He may not remember but I know that you do. I did nothing wrong."
The teen pretended to go back to sleep. 
"Come live with me," her dad said when he called her later that day.
She moved out shortly after that.

Dad didn't make cookies with me. But he didn't beat me up or curse at me or call me bad names either.