The Visit
Stephen Mosher
Easter Sunday had come and gone. Not that Easter was really any kind of important in our home - we never really cared about holidays, unless it was the time between Thanksgiving weekend and January first. In true family format, for us, holidays meant little else than a chance to be with loved ones and eat. Me Mother loved food, she had always loved food, and she would never stop loving food. When she married Me Father, she did not cook - there have been many stories over the years about how their first meals of their early marriage were all easy things like bacon, eggs, and coffee, which always sounded like a good meal and, indeed, over the years, was, any time of day. However, Mama did become a skilled cook and we were all the lucky benefactors of her talent.
I inherited My Mam’s skill in the kitchen, and her love of food, even if I didn’t ever, actually, enjoy cooking. I did like baking, and did it whenever I could, especially for any kind of holiday.
The holiday in question was Easter.
During the week after the resurrection, Me Mother and Father had cause to be in Dallas, a business affair of some sort, something that required elegant attire, attire which they did not wish to wear in the car for the forty-five-minute drive into town, lest the clothing appear wrinkled and rumpled. So, my parents stopped by the apartment on Hudnall to change into their finery. It wasn’t often that our parents came to our home, but when it did happen, we were always happy to welcome them, always glad to feel the familial love in our little corner of the world. And, so, on this fine spring day, My Mam and Pap stopped by around four pm to spruce themselves up for a fine time out. They looked very pretty and sophisticated and, as always, elegant, as they left our nicely sized two-bedroom apartment, got into their car and headed to their party.
An hour or so later, my Pat arrived home from work and was only home for a few minutes before he walked into the kitchen.
“Your mother has been here.”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “She and Daddy were both here. How did you know that?”
“Because the nuts have been picked out of this pie and the tabs on the crust, broken off and eaten.
“Well, I could’ve done that.”
“No, that’s not the way it works. She eats the nuts out of the pie and you eat the goop.”
Well, alright then, Miss Marple.
