This Is Where I Leave You [antikvár]

Chapter I i d .ad's dead,' Wendy says offhandedly, like it's happened before, like it happens every day. It can be grating, this act of hers, to be utterly unfazed at all times, even in the face of tragedy, 'He died two hours ago.' 'How's Mom doing?' 'She's Mom, you know? She wanted to know how much to tip the coroner.' I have to smile, even as I chafe, as always, at our family's patented inability to express emotion during watershed events. There is no occasion calling for sincerity that the Foxman family won't quickly diminish or pervert through our own genetically engineered brand of irony and evasion. We banter, quip, and insult our way through birthdays, holidays, weddings, illnesses. Now Dad is dead and Wendy is cracking wise. It serves him right, since he was something of a pioneer at the forefront of emotional repression.