My Sister Texted That 47 People Were Coming to My Beach House for Four Days and Told Me to Stock the Fridge

to close before you understand what they were keeping out.

I had spent years propping mine open out of guilt, out of habit, out of the particular fear that belongs to women who were raised to believe that loving people means never making them uncomfortable. I had called it generosity. I had called it family. I had called it keeping the peace, as though continue reading …