Beorn and I went out to lunch at an Afgani buffet. As we walked back into our little cottage we discussed the fact that we are expecting a call from my father. After all the drama over the summer with my family Beorn and I agreed not to spend the holidays we them. My father never tells me the family plans until a day before the event. We already made plans to have Thanksgiving with another couple and Ian’s best friend. So I wasn’t surprised to find a message on my cell phone from my father. He called while we were out. He’s feeling really bad if he didn’t tell me about the Thanksgiving plans, of course he can’t remember. He wants us to come to dinner at my grandmother’s house. My uncle is cooking. The uncle who threatened to kill my father. The uncle who threated to call the cops on us or to sue us. The uncle who called us “welfare cases.” Guess what? I’m not interested in breaking bread with him. My father seems to think it’s OK for my uncle to behave that way. My uncle has my phone number, if he wants me to come to dinner he can damn well call me and apologize. I can’t believe my father thinks I would be willing to sit down to dinner with my uncle. If I was at all important to my father I think I would rate more than a last minute call attempting to guilt trip me into spending Thanksgiving with them.

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