My Parents Took the $22,000 Hawaii Trip I Paid For

at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning, wearing a navy blazer and the expression of a man prepared to be respected by furniture.

Our receptionist, Janelle, called me.

“Claire,” she said carefully, “there’s a Richard Whitaker here to see you.”

“Did he have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Tell him I’m unavailable.”

A pause.

“He says he’s your father.”

“I know who he is.”

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