invader in my own territory.
He rolled over and kind of groaned, then curled up tighter under his skinny little quilt and
muttered some pretty unfriendly-sounding stuff into his
pillow.
I beat it into the kitchen and poured myself a killer bowl of corn flakes. And I was about to
drown it in milk when my mother comes waltzing in and
snags it away from me. “You are going to wait, young man,” she says. “This family is going to
have Sunday breakfast together.”
“But I'm starving!”
“So are the rest of us. Now go! I'm making pancakes, and you're taking a shower. Go!”
Like a shower's going to prevent imminent starvation.
But I headed down to the bathroom, and on my way I noticed that the family room was empty.
The quilt was folded and back on the armrest, the
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pillow was gone…it was like I'd imagined the whole thing.
At breakfast my father didn't look like he'd spent the night on the couch. No bags under his
eyes, no whiskers on his chin. He was decked out in
tennis shorts and a lavender polo shirt, and his hair was all blown dry like it was a workday.
Personally I thought the shirt looked kind of girly, but my
mom said, “You look very nice this morning, Rick.”
My father just eyed her suspiciously.
Then my grandfather came in, saying, “Patsy, the house smells wonderful! Good morning,
Rick. Hi there, Bryce,” and winked at me as he sat
down and put his napkin in his lap.
“Lyn-et-ta!” my mother sang out. “Break-fast!”
My sister appeared in a triple-X miniskirt and platform shoes, with eyes that were definitely of
the raccoon variety. My mother gasped, but then
took a deep breath and said, “Good morning, honey. You're… you're …I thought you were
going to church this morning with your friends.”
“I am.” Lynetta scowled and sat down.
Mom brought pancakes, fried eggs, and hash browns to the table. My father just sat there
stiff as a board for a minute, but finally he shook out his
napkin and tucked it into his collar.
“Well,” my mother said as she sat down, “I have come up with a solution to our situation.”
“Here it comes …,” my father muttered, but my mother gave him a glare that shut him down
cold.
“The solution is …,” my mom said as she served herself some pancakes, “… we're going to
invite the Bakers over for dinner.”
My father blurts out, “What?”; Lynetta asks, “All of them?”; I put in, “Are you serious?”; but
my grandfather heaps on another fried egg and says,
“That, Patsy, is a marvelous idea.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she says with a smile, then tells Lynetta and me, “Of course I'm serious, and
yes, if Juli and the boys want to come, they'll be
invited.”
My sister starts cracking up. “Do you know what you're saying?”
Mom smooths the napkin into her lap. “Maybe it's about time I found out.”
Lynetta turns to me and says, “She's inviting the core of Piss Poor over for dinner — oh, this
is something I really woke up expecting!”
My father shakes his head and says, “Patsy, what purpose does this serve? So I made some
stupid cracks last night. Is this the next phase in my
