As I walk to the front door, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a shadowy figure in the window, briefly illuminated by the light from the headlights of the car trying and failing to parallel park on the narrow, steep Seattle street.
“Oh no. No, no, no!”
Fidget woofs happily as the doorbell rings again.
“Absolutely not. What the fucking—Hi, Mom! What a”—terrible—“wonderful surprise!”
My mom sniffs as I throw the door open. “Winifred. Something horrible has happened.”
“Oh no, is it Dad? Did something happen? Why didn’t you call me?” I feel sick and rush out of the house.
“Worse.” My mom dabs her eyes.
“Granny?”
My mom sighs. “No, the Lord unfortunately did not see fit to take her during the road trip.” By the sour set of my mother’s mouth, it’s obvious that would have been the preferred solution.
I hear Gran and my dad arguing down the hill.
“No, it’s Kathy.”
“Oh… no… that’s horrible. What happened? I mean, Kathy and I had our differences, but gosh, to lose a sister—”
“Winnie!” My sister, eyes puffy red, a big floppy hat on her head, in ridiculously high heels, stumbles across my lawn to me and throws herself in my arms. “It’s awful. He broke up with me. Knox left me.” She sobs.
“Oh… dear… is that all? It really could have been an email, or you could have just changed your Facebook status.” I gingerly pat my sister’s back while she sobs. “Was it infidelity? Gambling? Did the CTE finally set in?”
“Winifred!” My mom slaps me with her purse. “Honestly, what’s gotten into you?” She looks around furtively. “We cannot have this conversation in front of the neighbors. Mark! Mark!” my mom screeches to my father. “Bring the bags inside.”
“Oh, whoa, all these suitcases and boxes. What, are you guys moving in?” I joke desperately.
“Well…”
“No, no, no, no!” I race down the walkway. “Gran, Gran, put all that back in the car.”
“We’re here to visit you, Winnie!” Dad spreads his arms wide.
“Visit?” the oldest woman says as my dad squeezes me in a back-cracking hug. “Your sister got thrown out on her ass, and now we’re all here to move in with you.”
“Oh, I don’t know if—”
“Nonsense, you can’t turn family out onto the street.”
They shove their way into my house, my sanctuary.
My father immediately sits down on my nice comforter on the sofa.
“Dad—”
“Winnie, are you eating in the living room?” My mom stares distastefully at the bag of peanut butter chips.
“Mom, this is my house. I can eat in my own living room.”
My mom’s ignoring me, folding up the comforter. “Blankets belong in the bedroom.”
“Speaking of,” Gran announces, dumping yet another load of crap in my pristine foyer with its House of Hackney wallpaper, “where am I bunking?”
“Put that back, Fidget,” I hiss at the dog.
