Real sisters do not act like this, from a number I did not recognize that turned out to be Megan.
And somewhere in there my father had left a voicemail saying he hoped my foreign job kept me warm when I was old and alone, which I did not have the energy to listen to all the way through.
Around nine that morning, while I was trying to focus on packing lists and visa paperwork, my phone rang again with an unfamiliar number, and against my better judgment I answered.
“Len, this is Megan.”
She skipped over any pretense of small talk.
“I know things got intense yesterday, but we really just need to sit down like adults. The house is for our future kids, for your parents to visit. You are not just saying no to us. You are saying no to them having a place where the whole family can be together.”
There it was, the new angle. My boundaries framed as an attack on elderly parents and hypothetical children.
So I asked her, as evenly as I could, if she thought it was acceptable that Ryan had been using my credit card without telling me while planning to ask for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars on top of it. There was a long pause before she said:
