My sister announced in the family group chat that I was officially banned from the reunion—and made it clear no one was to tell me where it would be. I didn’t argue. I didn’t reply. I simply opened the location pin… and laughed so hard I had to cover my mouth.

My mother sat in her sunroom where the light was always flattering, angled just so. She wore a crisp white blouse and pearl studs, which meant she was preparing to conduct herself with formal righteousness. My father was at the dining room table, glasses low on his nose, already looking like he wanted the meeting over. Bridget appeared from what looked like her kitchen, wineglass in hand, the camera positioned high enough to sharpen her jawline. Kyle was there too, slouched on a sofa, barely attentive.

“Hello, everyone,” I said.

My voice sounded thin in my own apartment, absorbed by walls that had heard me swallow too many things.

“Hi, sweetie,” my mother said warmly.

That tone. That sugar-lacquered tone.

I knew then it was going to be bad.

“We just wanted to hop on a quick call to finalize details for the trip next month,” she said. “Your father and I, and Bridget of course, have been talking about the overall vibe we want this year.”

Overall vibe.

I set my fork down.

“We want this reunion to be restful,” she continued. “Truly restful. No stress, no work talk, no tension. Just family. Relaxation. Everyone decompressing.”

I waited.