The next morning, I debate if I should get in my house through the front door, or the ladder to my room. Maybe I can pretend I spent the night at home if I play it right, assuming Mom didn't sleep on my bed waiting for me. Wouldn't put that one past her, so I decide for the former. I open the front door and I'm greeted by Grandma. You heard that right, greeted by her.

She comes at me with the sweetest smile I've ever seen on her face before and her arms stretch to cup my face. Her shiny eyes fill with tears.

"Owen, my child... You're back!"

Okay, that explains it.

"Yes, er... Mom. I'm back!" I say, smiling my fakest smile.

But then her face contorts in disgust. "Wait, did you dye your hair?"

For the record, I look nothing like Uncle Owen. He's short, tubby and bald as it comes. Apparently, he was not blond, either. Which makes me wonder about Alex a bit, but never mind that, because Grandma pulls me in and kisses my cheek, and then the other. Then she holds my hand and drags me to the kitchen, where Mom is sitting with a smug smile on her face.

"She's been at it since 4 a.m." Mom explains. "Glad to see you're back, brother."

"Ha-ha," I reply sarcastically, while Grandma instructs me to sit down at the table.

"Please, have a seat, I'll prepare you something to eat."

"I'll take care of that," Mom offers.

"Please, Fiona," does she mean Great-Aunt Fiona? Grandma is completely out of it today. "Make some French toasts, they're Owen's favorite."

Mom chuckles lightly. She knows I hate the soggy texture of French toasts.

"See, Fiona? See?" Grandma continues, caressing my cheek and making me flinch a little. This isn't pleasant in any way for me and Mom is having a field day with it. "My prayers were heard, and my little Owen is back!"

"Yes, Enedith," Mom finally says, holding her free hand. "Now you can go to bed in peace, can you not? Get some rest?"

"But, my little Owen...?"

"I'll be fine, promise," I say, again unable to conceal my sarcasm.

"Come on, Enedith. You know he's here and well," Mom says, helping Grandma to her feet and leading her slowly to her room.

"Owen, my child... Come with us?" She pleads, giving me a loving, sweet smile that takes me so off guard I can't help but feel a little tug at my heart.

So, am I really the kind of monster who says no to such a heartfelt petition, when all I got from this person was nothing but unyielding wrath and disapproval? The better question is, are you the kind of monster who would deny me of such a pleasure, after almost nine months of living with this other monster?

While I ponder on those important issues, Mom grabs me by the arm and pulls me into Grandma's room with them, which smells just like Grandma does when she doesn't need a change of diapers: mothballs, talc, old farts, and a severe lack of Jesus. So much so, I almost expect a goat to be hanging from the ceiling and the pentagrams drawn with its blood on the floor, but no. Other than the foul smell, it looks like any normal room.

Yes, it's my first time in Grandma's room, I don't know what the hell did you expect.

"I knew you'd come back eventually," Grandma says to me, untangling from Mom and kissing my cheek. I sort of expect to go down in flames by the gesture so I sort of flinch back, but luckily she doesn't seem to register the distrust. "I can't wait until Albert is back to tell him the news."

I only know stories about Grandpa Albert, but they don't sound very promising. Alcoholic, and not the friendly kind. Short-fused and always a drink away from passing out. Died young of cirrhosis.

I don't know much else, but if you marry someone like Grandma in the age where you couldn't or wouldn't really consider divorce as an option, then you would also have turned to some kind of addiction to wedge the pain away. Just saying.

"Let's just get in bed for now, okay, Enedith?"

"We can't," Grandma says, letting go of me and trying to push past Mom and out of the room. "Nora, we didn't feed the horses!"

Don't look at me. I don't know who Nora is supposed to be.

"Of course we did, right, Owen?"

"Owen?" Grandma says, now really trying to push past Mom. "Is he here?"

"Right there, remember?" Mom says, swerving her in my direction and pointing at me.

A flash of recognition pinches her brows together. "What's Thomas doing here? You're not welcome!"

"It's me, Owen," I say, convinced it will work, and knowing I'd get the better treatment if she doesn't confuse me with my father. "You don't recognize me anymore?"

She looks confused, more so than when I arrived. "You're Owen?"

"Yes, he is," Mom says, sneaking her past me and sitting her on the bed.

Grandma isn't quite buying it, though, "Is that really you, Owen? You look different..."

"Of course I am Owen," I say, trying to sound convincing and even venturing near her to take her hand in mine. "Who else would I be?"

She lies down on the bed and exhales a deep sigh, not answering my question. Then she closes her eyes and goes out like a light. I pretend I don't want to put a pillow on her face and slowly leave Grandma's hand on top of her belly.

Mom wraps her gently with a blanket, and we both leave the room as silently as we can.

"She's going to sleep for a while now."

"What the hell was all that?" I inquire, flabbergasted by the whole spectacle.

"Sometime around four in the morning she was in the kitchen yelling for your uncle."

"That's weird... even for her."

"That's the nature of the illness she has," Mom says, dragging her feet to the kitchen. She looks exhausted. "She sees things, confuses people, her short term memory gets confused with her long term one..."

"That sounds worse than I thought it was." And that's about as much sympathy as she will get from me today.

"Did you have breakfast yet?"

"Not really."

"I'll prepare you something, you sit down there."

Okay. One more pinch of sympathy, but that's all! "Don't worry, I'll take care of that."

"Thank you, my dear."

Instant regret for my sympathy. I'll just make some more for her out of pure spite. SPITE, not sympathy. SPITE.

When it's all served, Mom butters a toast, then a second one, and then she stretches her hand to mine. She holds my fingers and gives them a gentle but firm squeeze. "You know I love you, right?"

I want to tell her that sometimes it doesn't show, but I go with a much simpler and less problematic, "I do." I could have also said something like, "Me too." Despite everything, she's still my mother.

Her features light up, and for once she doesn't look like she's going to pass out from tiredness. "Your father and I have a small surprise for you."

"I don't need a new phone," I counter immediately.

She chuckles. "It's not a phone. It's a little bigger than that."

"Okay, now you have to spill the beans. You have my interest."

"That's not how surprises work, you know?"

"You can't just say you have a surprise and not tell me what it is."

"Just finish your breakfast and head to the restaurant," she says, letting go of my hand and biting on a toast. "Your father will tell you about it."

I'm a sucker for this kind of things. I scarf down my breakfast, wondering what the hell they got me this time. I expect it to be something good with all this foreshadowing going on, but I don't really know what could they come up with after all the shit they did lately to patch things up.

I sprint my way to Sad Aloha, and as soon as I get there I find out what my surprise is. It's not a what. It's a who.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"