Why I Don’t Share My Business with My Family, an example

Sunday night, 7:40 pm:
Mom calls during my soccer game even though I talked to her on my way to my soccer game. I expect the worst because that’s what I do when a call succeeds another call. Assume someone is dead.

“So, Meg’s home,” my mom tells me breezily. Meg was in South Carolina last weekend, visiting her Wedding Date. “And she told Wedding Date that she loves him and Wedding Date told her that he loves her.” I think my mom meant to be casual but this news came bubbling out of her. “She sounded really calm and she wasn’t weird about it at all.”

I laughed. Told Mom that it was wonderful. That of course Wedding Date would love her. Because Meg is loveable and wonderful and generally great.

Monday night, 9:05 pm:
I call home when I leave work. I always do on Monday night. My dad answered. “Your mom is already in bed,” he reports. (This news isn’t surprising. She’s due to the hospital early on Tuesday mornings.) “Have you talked to Meg?”

“I haven’t talked to Meg today.”

“Did you talk to Meg yesterday?”

“No, Dad, I didn’t talk to Meg yesterday.”

“Your sister is in love.”

“I know, Dad. Mom told me already.”

“You girls both deserve to have someone to love.”

“Right. Exactly. That’s...yeah. Good point.”

Monday night, 9:48 pm:
Meg calls. I ask about her workday and her team. We discuss the tournament we’re playing in next weekend. I grill her about what she and Wedding Date did during her visit.

“Oh, and I have a funny story to tell you,” she says, “I am just so awkward. I asked Wedding Date, earlier in the weekend, how you know if you’re in love...”

“Um, Meggie? Not to ruin this for you, but Mom already told me. So did Dad.”

“I didn’t tell them the story, though. I’m going to tell you the whole story.”

And so she did.