You can't go home again. (Thomas Wolfe)

She invited us into the house. What a gem that was. I don’t mean to be stuck-up. I know this house marks the humble beginnings from which my mother pulled herself up from and I can appreciate that. I respect her more for having seen it. It’s not like I think money and nice things are everything but, come on, would it have hurt for my mother to send them a cheque or two? The orange-brown-vomit color of the shag carpet hadn’t been fashionable or even sanitary for a decade or two. Nothing matched. Everything felt like it was covered in dust, not because the house wasn’t being cleaned but just because everything was so old. There was dust embedded in everything so deep that no amount of cleaning would fix it up. The only bit of consistency in the décor was the religious paraphernalia guarding everything. When she hung up that cross-stitched “The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want” she really carried the theme throughout the house because I didn’t want anything there, hell, I didn’t want to touch anything there. I sound terrible, don’t I? Wait for what happens next before you get too sympathetic for my newfound grandparents.

We stayed for dinner. Potatoes that were cooked so long they crumbled at the sight of my fork. Meat that had been cooked so long it would take a jackhammer to break into it. Rice – what the hell are you doing here? Bread pudding; I think I’m ready for the cheque.

The conversation though, now that took the cake. After a decade and a half of absence my new grandfather, who just seemed to emit bad vibrations, managed to wait until the coffee and tea were served to lay into my mother.

“You must have your mother’s brains,” he told me after she made a big to-do about how smart I was. I’m not sure he even believed her about my intelligence, but my grandmother ate it up like the gospel gracing the walls. “Let’s just hope you have better sense than her. Speaking of which, where is Tommy?”

“He’s on a business trip with Tony and Senior.”

He raised an eyebrow and repeated, “A business trip?”

My mother took a long sip of tea before replying dryly, “Yes, a business trip.”

He slammed his cup down on the table breaking the handle clean off and spilling black coffee over the white table cloth. Things were getting exciting in the sleepy sanctuary.

He shouted at my mother: “Give it up!”