The Guard Asked Who They Were Here to See

at my parents, standing under the chandelier like two guests who had come to the wrong wedding.

“You can,” I said.

Naomi smiled at them. Polite. Not warm, not mean.

“Come on. You’re in the front section.”

My father blinked. “Front?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Family seating.”

The word hit all three of us in different places.

My mother followed Naomi first. She continue reading …