My name was written across the front in looping gold calligraphy, the kind my mother used to call tasteful when she wanted to make sure everyone knew she had money. Inside was a card wrapped in pale pink tissue paper and tied with a satin ribbon.
You’re warmly invited to celebrate Madison and Baby ReedThe Belvedere RoomSaturday at 1:00 p.m.Pastel Garden Attire Requested
At the bottom, in my mother’s handwriting, she had added a note.
Please don’t make this day about you for once.
I stood in my kitchen in my condo on the north side of Chicago, reading that line three times before I laughed out loud.
Not because it was funny.
Because that was how my family worked. They threw the knife, then acted offended when you bled on the carpet.
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