I didn’t. I barely saw them at all. I’d tried when I got back from college. Did a couple of family dinners. But each one included a pitch from Dad on taking the MCAT so I could apply to medical school and join his practice, and Mom’s subtle digs at my clothes and hair. The final straw had been when my mother had wailed, “Why can’t you just be more like your sister was?” when I refused to be set up with one of her friend’s sons. I saw them only in passing now. And it was always awkward.
