“Mom, these floors are getting worn. You ever think about moving somewhere smaller?”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“And?”
“I decided I still like my home, Colin.”
He sighed.
“And?”
“Those stairs can’t be getting easier.”
“Then I’ll stay downstairs when I don’t feel like climbing them.”
I smiled, but Uncle Colin continued examining the room.
One aunt complained about the long drive.
Another asked whether Grandma still used the upstairs bedrooms.
Grandma answered their questions and asked about their families.
I hoped the evening would stay peaceful.
“Those stairs can’t be getting easier.”
***
Dinner began with laughter.
Grandma told a story about my grandfather building a kitchen cabinet without checking his measurements.
“He insisted the wall was crooked,” she said.
“Was it?” Uncle Colin asked.
“No. Your father just hated admitting he’d made a mistake.”
Everyone laughed.
Dinner began with laughter.
Grandma looked around the table, smiling.
Then Colin put down his fork.
