by Lauren Stein

It’s time for the third glass of wine, and Bubbie is asleep.

At the kids’ table, my youngest cousin swings her party shoes into my overlong legs, and I don’t say anything. She shovels tiny bites of spongy matzah ball into her mouth, distracted by the older kids and their tablets.

Last year, I was pissed about being relegated to the kids’ table. I was twenty-one. I could drink all the glasses of wine. I could even buy them across the border. This year, my place card finally migrated to sit with the grown-ups. But without Uncle […]