My Doctor Said Stay in Bed. I Was Already on the Pacific Coast Highway. When I Got to the House I’d Built for My Parents’ Anniversary, My Brother-in-Law Was Evicting Them. I Laughed in His Face and Said: “You Have Exactly One Hour to Leave.”

was at the kitchen island I had chosen for my mother, leaning against it with her phone in her hand, scrolling, half-smiling in the way of someone who finds the discomfort of others mildly interesting and has decided that her presence in a room constitutes participation.

My vision swam. My head was pounding in the specific way it had been pounding since continue reading …