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.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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