“You’ll Give Him the Wrong Impression of Our Famil…

The call came on December 18th. I was in a board meeting discussing our Q4 projections when my phone lit up on the table. My younger sister Rachel’s name flashed across the screen, then vanished.

I let it go to voicemail. By the time the meeting ended, I had three missed calls from her and one text. Call me about Christmas.

I stepped into my corner office on the 14th floor of Boston Medical Center’s research tower, closed the glass door behind me, and called her back. “Finally,” Rachel said. Her irritation was already sharp enough to cut through the line.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“I was in a board meeting. What’s going on?”

“It’s about Christmas Eve. Mom and Dad’s annual party.” She paused, just long enough for me to hear the discomfort underneath the performance.

“We need you to skip it this year.”