The moving box still sat open on the floor, its cardboard flaps folded neatly like wings. I hadn’t even unpacked the good linens when the phone rang. I wiped drywall dust from my hands and answered without checking the name. I didn’t need to. Only one person called with that particular brand of breezy, unquestioning entitlement. It was my daughter-in-law, Kinley.
“Hey, Calvana, just a heads-up. We’ll be there in about two hours. There’s twenty of us from my side. I told them you had the space. If you could get the rooms ready, that would be great. Oh, and food, obviously.”
That was it. No pause. No, “Is this a good time?” No congratulations on the new cottage I had spent a decade saving for. She made it sound like a delivery notification, a statement of fact that required no input from me. I stayed silent for a beat, letting her words settle like a layer of fine dust over my newfound peace.
