__exclusive__ | Ophelia Kaan Oopsfamily

The word twenty-three echoed in her skull. She thought of her quiet apartment, her single cup of morning coffee, her neatly labeled spice rack. Twenty-three half-siblings. It was a logistical nightmare.

“I prefer ‘facilitator,’” Ophelia replied. ophelia kaan oopsfamily

“Mateo,” he replied, shaking her hand with a sticky grip. “Number four. You?” The word twenty-three echoed in her skull

Ophelia looked at the bookshelf. Sandwiched between first editions of Kerouac and a tattered copy of On the Road was a leather-bound journal. She pulled it out. Elias Kaan’s Oops Family Handbook was embossed on the cover. It was a logistical nightmare

And somewhere, she imagined Elias Kaan was watching, that mischievous grin on his face, whispering, “Oops. You’re welcome.”

Ophelia’s phone buzzed. A text from Gerald: “Poetry reading tonight. You’re on snacks.”

“Well, facilitator, how do you plan to make this work? Half of them think this is a joke. The other half are already fighting over who gets the silverware.”