The Family Reunion They Weren’t Invited To
The text came in while I was still in scrubs, standing at the kitchen island with my shoes kicked off and a cold, untouched cup of coffee in front of me. We planned the family reunion at your beach house. 47 people.
4 days. Stock the fridge by Friday. It wasn’t a question.
It wasn’t even an attempt at pretending it was a conversation. It was an order, delivered with the casual confidence of someone who’s been allowed to treat your generosity like a utility bill that pays itself. Across the room, Milo was half-asleep on the couch, curled around her Switch like it was a stuffed animal.
She had one sock on, one sock off, and a loose braid she’d put in herself before bed. She was eleven and still looked surprised by mornings, as if waking up was a new invention someone had sprung on her without warning. I stared at Paige’s message so long the screen dimmed.
Then it brightened again under my thumb, like my phone was politely reminding me that my life had been interrupted and I should respond promptly. I hadn’t been asked. Not once.
No “Hey, are you guys using the house that weekend?” No “Would it be okay if we…” No “We’re thinking about a reunion and we’d love to have it there if you’re comfortable.”
Just: Stock the fridge. I typed one word. No.
The typing bubbles appeared on Paige’s side, disappeared, came back, vanished again, like she was enjoying the build-up. Then her reply popped up. Lol.
We’re coming anyway. What are you gonna do—call the HOA? Three laughing emojis followed, yellow faces mocking me through the screen.
I set my phone face down like it was hot. “Everything okay?” Milo asked, rubbing her eyes with her fists. “Yeah, kiddo,” I lied the way I’d lied in a hundred small ways to keep the world from landing on her too hard.
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