Part 1Late-Life Luggage

When my mother, at 55, finally spoke of divorce,

My father roared, "Then be gone!"

My brother sneered, "Ungrateful old woman!"

I stepped through the scattered chaos, grabbed her hand, and said,

"Mom, I'm taking you home."

* * *

I walked into a living room brimming with people. My father, my brother, my sister-in-law Brittany, and what seemed like every single one of Brittany's relatives. My mother was alone in the kitchen, silently washing dishes.

Seeing me, Dad stubbed out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, his voice grating with impatience. "Go on, talk some sense into your foolish mother. Your in-laws are staying with us, what's she kicking up a fuss for?"

I scanned the crowded room. "Why are they staying here?"

Brittany's mother, Sharon Jenkins, offered a saccharine smile. "Brittany's grandma is in the hospital, stroke. Needs constant care. And wouldn't you know, our place is so much farther from Metropolitan General…"

Before she could finish, my brother Kevin cut her off. "Enough, Mom, why are you explaining anything to an outsider?" He turned to me, his lip curling. "Don't know what bug Mom's got up her butt. Asking for a divorce at her age? Embarrassing."

"My Mom?" I scoffed, a cold laugh escaping me. "Were you born under a rock? No mother at all?"

"You…" Kevin spluttered, caught off guard by my retort.

Brittany jumped in, playing peacemaker. "Mia, your brother just spoke without thinking. We asked you to come back to talk to Mom. This fuss she's making isn't good for anyone."

"Fine. I'll talk to her."

I strode directly into the kitchen, picked up the stack of unwashed dishes my mother was about to tackle, and with a resounding crash, I slammed them down on the living room floor.