“Michael?” I asked.
A pause.
“Probably later.”
I could picture her standing at the kitchen counter with the cordless phone jammed under her chin, flour on one hand, pretending the answer wasn’t loaded.
“Did he tell you he uninvited me for Christmas?”
Another pause. Shorter.
“He said this year was going to be quiet.”
“That’s one way to say it.”
My mother exhaled continue reading …
