“All You Do Is Take,” My Father Said—So I Stopped Paying

that last Thanksgiving. About Adam’s toast—how lucky we are to have each other—delivered in my house, at my table, over food I’d paid for, to people who didn’t know they were sitting inside my labor and calling it luck. I thought about the voicemail. All you do is take. I thought about the cropped photo. The wall of pictures that didn’t include me.continue reading …