So I closed the group chat.
At 8:26 a.m., Melissa called.
“You sitting down?”
“Should I be?”
“That depends. How emotionally attached are you to a porcelain garden gnome?”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Your sister threw one at my photographer.”
I stood up.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. The gnome did not survive.”
Clare covered her mouth.
Melissa continued.
“Your parents refused access for photographs. Your sister screamed that the listing was fraudulent. Your father threatened to call the police.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“The responding officer looked up the property record.”
I could hear the smile in Melissa’s voice.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. Apparently your father informed the officer that you had ‘technically purchased’ the house but that it had always remained morally his.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“And the officer?”
“Explained that morality is not part of county property registration.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
