Years ago I slept over at my sister's new house. It was identical to our brick Georgian style childhood home except a miniature version including the pond opposite and the same type of Westchester County neighborhood but in New Rochelle instead of Larchmont. I was to sleep in the guest room. She told me she locked the guest bedroom bathroom door from the other side. I assumed it was because it joined the master bedroom where she and her husband slept. No big deal. I did wonder why she didn't trust me to share the adjoining toilet. I wasn't going to barge in! When I woke up to pee in the night I went down to the hallway landing and crossed over to go up another staircase to the kids bathroom.
She got up the next morning and glared at me "Were you sleeping with your shoes on? Wearing shoes to bed?"
"No," I replied.
"I heard you clomping over to bathroom in the middle of the night!" she yelled, agitated. "Why the fuck did you ask to stay here?" She shouted at me running out the door in her skin tight gray sweat suit.
"Wait, come back," I said.
"I have to go" she said, impatiently sighing and putting her had on her hip. Her hair was tied up in a leopard skin scrunchy.
"Why did you accept when I asked to come see your new house?" I asked.
"You should know," she said.
Then I realized she didn't know how to say no.
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