The family reunion swirls around me. The occasional looks of pity are because I’m 37 and live with a half dozen cats. They don’t know that…

BUZZ!

So tired.

My lips purse tightly. My breath catches. I have to smile and nod as some random cousin compliments my center pieces. I don’t care about the center pieces.

One hand shielding the screen, the other tapping with harder strikes than absolutely necessary I send, “Call 911. Now. Stay with me.” I look around. Faces blur together. I question that I’m really related to any of them, glad handing, fake smiling, superficial wads of…

BUZZ! I almost pee myself.

My mom’ll be pissed.

The words sting in an odd way, some realization thus far pushed away that wants to creep up and spoil things. I swallow hard.

My fingers fly, “I’ll be more pissed.” I consider adding an emoticon. It seems out of place given the gravity of the situation. They’re usually so handy though. We’ve exchanged so many, said so much with the little cartoon faces.