My Son Demanded Rent at Christmas Dinner

and Bad News

My sister Carol came at two with chicken soup in a dented pot and a brown grocery bag full of oranges.

She did not knock hard. Carol never knocked hard. Even as a child she tapped doors like she was asking permission from the wood.

When I opened the door, she took one look at me and started crying.

“Oh, stop,” I said.

“I know.”

“You’ll get me continue reading …