Pizza

Last night, I made pizza and some mozzarella sticks, fully intending to watch Wicked with my mom—quality bonding time, right? But when it came down to it, we both caved and opted for some dumb comedy with Reese Witherspoon and Will Ferrell instead. Shorter runtime, less commitment. When my mom finally emerged, she was, unsurprisingly, on the phone with my sister (as she often is), talking about how Archie was sick again. They hung up, only for my sister to call right back, this time asking how Aunt Lee was doing. Now, I could’ve sworn it was just four or five days ago that my mom told me Aunt Lee had a pacemaker put in, but since we’re not speaking (and she knows exactly why), I hadn’t reached out. Naturally, two thoughts crossed my mind: 1) Why wasn’t my sister just calling Aunt Lee herself instead of using my mom as a middleman? And 2) My mom casually mentioned that Aunt Lee had been reading a Christmas letter from her sister, Anna, which—because drama follows this family like a shadow—included a delightful anecdote about how Anna’s husband’s heart blew up after surgery. Classic. Nothing like a little old habits die hard, especially with my aunt, who lives for the family gossip and talking shit.

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