Five of us met for dinner: Peter and Fat Margie, Little Kevin, Jan and myself.
We came separately, but arrived at the same time. The house was as we remembered, but smaller. As we trundled in Peter reached for the light switch without thinking. His hand landed high, but found it’s mark quickly, and the darkness turned into our childhood home. Or, at least, the front hall.
There was much ado unbundling ourselves from our winter protection. Someone had already turned on the furnace as high as it would go. Meanwhile, the night had been particularly menacing and it appeared that we all had taken extra precaution. Little Kevin had worn three scarves, while Jan doubled up on gloves so the holes wouldn’t align. I had prepared the least and therefore finished first. Peter and Fat Marge had layered themselves with more purpose, sweaters and jackets and shirts that fit so perfectly together they looked to be sold as a set. Peter finished by tucking a pair of sheepskin gloves into the pocket of his wool overcoat. He looked at the rest of us and positively beamed. Well, he said, shall we?
What fun it was to be together and of all places. I lingered behind the group. Each crevice tickled a memory that was just out of reach. If we had grown up with ink on our hands, this place would be covered in our fingerprints. It was all so familiar in a far off sort of way. Jan made jokes that made Margie do her howling laugh. Peter talked to Little Kevin in his serious voice. An ache of joy settled in my chest that felt like longing. I caught up to the group - past the patterned wall paper we used to look at to see if could pick out faces, past the cupboard under the stairs that was a favorite for hide and seek and through the doorway to the dining room where Aunt Betty would call us to supper.
The sight of the room had rendered the revelry to a halt, even Jan stopped her wisecracks. It should have not surprised me that our dining room table remained where it always had, I cannot imagine how it would have fit through the door – It must have been built here. The table held down the floor, while an elaborate chandelier held up the ceiling, lit with too many bulbs to count. Both looked if they had not aged, and were somehow more imposing than I remembered. What stopped us was what lay on the table. Settings had been placed, candles lit, silver spotlessly polished and napkins folded into fans. Wordlessly, we spread around the table. Little Kevin lifted the lid of one of the trays, revealing a fully cooked goose. Margie unveiled roasted vegetables, still steaming. There was freshly cooked rolls, sauces, jellies, season butters, truffled side dishes, and all sorts of exquisitely prepared things I had never seen before.
Kevin turned to Peter, Is this your doing? Peter shook his head. Kevin looked around the room. Not me. Not me either. I counted the place settings. Everyone was thinking the same thing as me, but I said it anyway - There’s room for six.
