The call came on a Tuesday evening, in the middle of the kind of day that leaves you feeling scraped clean by the time you get home. I was standing by my apartment window with my phone pressed to my ear, watching the city skyline cut its familiar geometry into a sky going orange and pink at the edges, when Victoria’s voice came through the line with that particular quality she reserved for moments she had been savoring in advance.
“You’re banned from the family beach house forever,” she said. “I’ve changed all the locks.”
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