These are not the visits to my parents’ house that I enjoy. I don’t love when visiting family feels like a business meeting. Who does?

But sometimes there’s shit that needs to get talked about and figured out.

The car service driver knows this journey by now and drops me off right in my parents’ driveway. At least this time, I know what I want. I just hope my father doesn’t waste time trying to talk me out of anything.

I know that it breaks his heart to exclude me from the family business, but that’s his call. If I have to ride out some drama, then so be it.

I trudge to the front door and wipe my shoes slowly on the welcome mat. Okay, here it goes.

As soon as my hand touches the doorknob, I hear a voice, but not one of my parents’.

No fucking way. I’m imagining this, right? Because that voice can’t really be…

I swing the door open, already supremely fucking irked. Why in the name of all that is holy would they invite fucking Miranda?

I feel queasy as I walk in, because I know exactly why: they don’t like Emily.

I try to control my breathing as I walk toward the sound of my parents and Miranda laughing in the fucking living room.

She probably didn’t invite herself. This is likely my father’s idea. I need to try not to totally fly off the fucking handle.

After that barbecue, he’s bound to react in some way, although it’s getting to the point of being ridiculous now.

It gets oddly quiet before I get to the living room. And by the time I’m there, Miranda is sitting there alone. She’s in the middle of the sectional, and she’s looking at me with a huge smile plastered on her face.

“What are you doing here, Miranda?” I grit my teeth.

“Your dad called. He said there was a Sunday get-together.”

“There’s not. Where is he?”

“They went to the kitchen to get something.”

Just fucking great. I walk over and sit next to Miranda on the sectional.

“This isn’t your first time here, Miranda. You know what that means.”

“It means your mom went off to do something or other, and your dad went off to do something else, and they probably won’t be back for a while.”

“If ever. Why did you come?”

“Because I wanted to, because I’m invited, and because I miss you.”

Miranda grabs my shoulders and pulls me closer to her. She starts kissing my cheek, then bites my earlobe softly. I jerk back reflexively.

“Please stop, Miranda.”

“If you don’t want it, why are you sitting next to me? It’s a big room.”

I pull farther away from Miranda, and she lets go of me.

“Because I want to communicate with you clearly. It seems like we’re in two different places, but I need to tell you that it is over. You need to understand that. There’s no going back, Miranda.”

I expect Miranda to just ignore this, like she seems to be ignoring a lot of things, but she looks seriously distraught. She can’t even make eye contact.

“You’re really ready to move on, huh?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Because of that bitch, right?”

“Miranda, please.”

“That goddamned Emily, right?”

I can’t answer right away. I owe it to Miranda to be truthful. I allow myself a quick sigh.

“It is Emily, but since the party...”

Miranda’s face transforms instantly. She lights up, and now she’s looking right into my eyes.

“Well, what about the party?”

“Things are still weird, I guess. You know, you were there, you were a witness to everything. Since then, just...no calls, nothing. I am planning to see her, though.”

Miranda laughs hard, throwing her head back.

“Witness? Baby, I was a fucking participant. We got drunk together!”

I grimace. “Um, yeah, she certainly got drunk.”

“Ohhh, yeah she was. I made sure of that.”

I feel blood rushing to my face.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Miranda’s face freezes, and I can see the regret wash over her.

But let’s be clear here. She doesn’t regret what she did—not for a fucking second. She just regrets admitting it.

“I wanted her to have a good time,” she says with a pout.

Jesus Christ.

“I know you have this weird...influence sometimes, Miranda. But I need you to come clean about what you actively did. Like, I need to know everything.”

Miranda takes a couple of deep breaths.

“I did whatever I could to get her really hammered. It was all intentional. I-I wanted her to embarrass herself.”

Tears start spilling out of Miranda’s eyes. Now I think she regrets everything. But it’s too fucking late.

“You don’t do that to someone, Miranda. To anyone. Fuck.” I scrape my hand across my jaw. “You should know that. I can’t believe you did this...”

“I’m sorry!” Miranda is outright blubbering, and it’s all I can do to keep my cool.

“A couple things.” My voice is barely controlled as I look her dead in the eyes. “One, I need for you to promise me that you’ll get some help, and you’ll never do anything like that again. Ever.”

“Oh god, I promise, Kirk. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“Two, please get the fuck out of my parents’ house. Now.”

Miranda stops crying abruptly, like just turns that shit right off, and I wonder if the whole thing was a fucking act. She grabs her purse from the coffee table and storms out. I wait until I hear her walk out the front door, and I go to find my father.

The first place I look is the kitchen, and there he is, sitting with the Sunday edition of the New York Times sprawled out across the kitchen table. He looks up from the crossword, seeming honestly surprised to see me.

“When did you get here?”

I point toward the living room with my thumb.

“You didn’t hear any of that?”

“Any of what? Where’s Miranda?”

“She left. We’re broken up, Dad. We have been for a while. It’s time to stop inviting her over.”

“I think she’s good for you, Kirk.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Does he have any idea what she’s like? My mother ambles in through the door across the kitchen.

“You’re here already, Kirk? I didn’t hear you come in.”

I let myself heave another quick sigh. What the fuck?

“Just so both of you know, Miranda’s gone. It’s over, and there’s no going back.”

My mother’s confused by my intensity.

“Okay, Kirk,” she says slowly.

“Mom, I know you mean well. You too, Dad. But I’m with Emily now.”

My father puts down his pen and frowns.

“I’m always impressed by you, Kirk. Amazed by the life you’ve made for yourself. I’m always bragging about my son, about how successful you are, how smart you are...”

“It’s true. He won’t shut up about it,” my mother adds.

“The decisions that you make, they always work out wonderfully,” he continues. “But this one, I don’t see it. You’re not thinking this through. I don’t see it turning out well.”

You know what? Fuck this. It’s my decision, and I have nothing to fucking prove about it.

“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” My voice is low and hard.

Then I simply turn around and walk out of my parents’ house without bothering to say goodbye.

Well, that was a total shit show. But if nothing else came of it, one thing is abundantly clear.

This thing with me and Em?

It’s not over.