The porch drop-off ritual only amplified the rivalry. Being invited to a sibling’s porch is a travesty of hospitality: Great to see you, please don’t come in. Exchanging niceties by the front door is not being together; it’s literally being on the threshold of together.
“No challah this week,” I texted my brother one morning. The first cracks in the façade we had collectively constructed were now visible. “No prob, hang in there,” came his reply. I didn’t have it together. But neither did he. And the moment we could admit that was the moment of togetherness we’d been yearning for all those months.
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