My Sister Brought My Mother’s Bank Statement to My Door

a child. Thirty-four years old, camel coat, snot on the cuff.

My phone buzzed as she walked through the sliding doors.

Mom.

I looked at the screen.

Then I blocked her.

Not forever, maybe. I don’t know. People love asking about forever when they haven’t even handled Tuesday.

I drove home. Made coffee. The good kind.

And when I sat at my kitchen table, I didn’t continue reading …