Sinatra was bleeding through my wall when my lock rattled hard, like someone had already decided my door belonged to them. I was in my Chicago apartment, river view behind me, iced tea on the counter, when my mother walked in without waiting. She did not say hello. She pointed at the tiny Stars and Stripes magnet on my fridge and smiled. “Cute,” she said. “Now meet the new owner of your place.”
The first thing my mom noticed in my apartment wasn’t the view of the Chicago River, or the clean hardwood…