The rare instances my phone rings—well after midnight—I know it’s you. It always is.
“Your sister have her baby?”
“Yeah.” He turned two yesterday. No point in telling you she’s pregnant again.
“You still at U of M?”
“No. I graduated.” Four years ago. From MSU.
“…So, anyway, I’ve finally left her.” Liar. “She stole $203.57 from me and vanished.” Again? Shocking. “I’m moving to Florida to work for my mom’s husband…”
Sighing the obligatory “uh-huh” when you pause for breath, I contemplate asking if your daughter’s enjoying school. But I’m afraid you’ll realize I don’t remember her name.
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