“Why the hell would they invite us?” I demand. Of him, of them, of the universe. He leans forward and tips more coconut rum into his mug, filling it to the brim. He holds it out in offering. When I shake my head, he throws it back and pours some more. I grab the invitation again, half expecting to realize my brain had merely malfunctioned while I was reading a take-out menu. It did not. “This is Labor Day weekend!” I shriek, throwing it away from me again. “I know,” Miles says. “They couldn’t stop at simply ruining our lives. They had to ruin a perfectly good holiday too. Probably won’t even
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