A Nation of Subscribers

The year before I got married, I moved back in with my parents. It was among the worst and longest years of my life. The arrangement was complicated by unforeseen circumstances: My newly divorced sister and her son also moved in with my parents, and my nephew stayed in what had once been my bedroom—with no remaining bedroom in the house. No big deal, I thought. I assured my parents I could just sleep on the couch for a year. I needed a place to stay, I was too religiously traditional to move in with my fiancé, and a year would be over in no time.