My Son Started Packing My Barbecue Into Takeout Boxes

The little hostage note wrapped up as information.

My chest hurt for one second. One ugly second. Then it passed.

“All right,” I said.

He seemed thrown off by that.

“That’s it?”

“What did you want, Michael? Begging?”

“No.”

“But you expected it.”

He didn’t answer.

I said, “You and Ashley are adults. Spend Thanksgiving wherever you’d like. But listen carefully continue reading …