“Where are you? My kids are hungry, and the table still isn’t cleared!” my sister demanded on my birthday, as if cooking, cleaning, and caring for her children were automatically my responsibility. – Welcome

against the table.

Fiona.

My older sister.

I watched her name flash across the screen three times before answering.

“Where are you?” she demanded.

No hello.

No happy birthday.

Just irritation.

“At dinner.”

“What do you mean, dinner?”

I looked at the small candle the server had placed beside my plate.

“I mean I’m eating dinner.”

Her voice sharpened.

“Shannon, the continue reading …