Our son lives alone in a new apartment building located not far from my husband and me. The outdoor pool, barbecue area, picnic tables, exercise room, and community building help make the complex very inviting. The lawns are well-trimmed, bushes neatly pruned, and the spring flowers are in full bloom.

The other day, without forewarning, we stopped to visit him. Once inside his abode, we had the opposite impression of the apartment than the outside appearance had suggested. Empty pizza boxes lay stacked on the kitchen floor, soda and beer cans appeared randomly about the place, and garbage bags were left undiscarded, some with refuse spilling onto the linoleum floor. Books, miscellaneous papers, DVDs, and music CDs sat on the chairs and sofa. Wires to and from various electronic devices, computers, and a large screen TV, crisscrossed the living room carpet.

I instinctively began to tidy up here and there while my husband, seemingly undisturbed by the mess, managed to create enough space for himself on the couch next to a pile of books and proceeded to have a conversation with our son.

When their chit-chat reached a lull, he turned to me and advised, "You don't have to clean the whole place for him."

"I'm not. I'm just tying up the garbage bags to throw out, and I'm sorting through all the empty cans. I'll rinse them out and have them ready to return to the store for later."

"I guess that's your payment for picking up the mess," he suggested, as our son refrained from commenting or thanking me for that matter.

I washed a few dirty dishes that were in the sink and organized the empty cans into their respective boxes as well as possible. I filled three large trash bags with the remainder of the cans.

After about 45 minutes of "visiting," I was ready to leave.

"Okay, let's go," I announced to my husband, who was now relaxing comfortably in the depths of the sofa.

"We're taking all of that? It looks like you cleared half of the place empty!"

"I did. Here, take the bags. I'll take the rest."

After we bid farewell to our son, I asked my husband if we could stop at the package store on our way home.

"Sure thing," he said anxiously. "I hope this isn't too much to return at once."

We entered the liquor store with both our arms loaded with empty cans. While my husband went back for the rest, I began to browse. I picked out a bottle of my favorite spiced rum and took it to the clerk at the cash register. At the same time, my husband handed me the receipt for the empties.

"No charge!" announced the cashier. "The refund covered it. In fact, you have 34 cents in change."

When we got home, I poured myself a glass of rum and sat in my easy chair. "Here's to many happy returns!" I exclaimed as I held the glass in the air.

Story and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2021 by Michael DeFrancesco