At Easter Brunch My Brother Demanded The Beach House Until I Called My Lawyer And Changed Everything

toward my lifestyle, a word my father deployed with studied vagueness, as though it meant something he’d decided not to specify.

This year it turned toward the beach house.

The house was about two hours up the coast, on a stretch of shoreline that still smelled the way beaches are supposed to smell: salt and sun and something faintly wild that the inland continue reading …