My sister announced in the family group chat that I was officially banned from the reunion and she 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 father, Patrick, is what I call a theoretically good man. He never hit us or missed a rent payment, and he worked a steady job for forty years. To an outsider, he seems like a decent, hardworking person.

In reality, he is a man who chose passivity as a survival strategy. He tells himself that he hates conflict, but what he really hates is the cost of standing up to my mother. He calls his surrender “wisdom” while he lets his children deal with the emotional fallout of her temper.

Then there is Monica, my older sister. She entered the world like a major weather event and has been acting accordingly ever since. She learned early that attention is a currency, and she has never stopped spending it.

When we were kids, everyone called her vivacious and magnetic. She is loud, careless with the truth, and absolutely convinced that wanting something is the same thing as earning it.

When Monica had a dance recital, the whole family became her personal stage crew. When she had a breakup, the entire house went into a state of mourning to match her drama. When she had a new “business idea,” we were all expected to applaud and provide the funding.