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damn hard.
     
    “Sit,” I order, as I place the potatoes and fried chicken on the table. I wish I had some steaks, but I don’t eat beef often because it costs so much. The chicken will have to do.
     
    Mike takes the first tentative bite of the chicken. I can see his eyes open wide in surprise. “This is really, really good!” he gushes.
     
    I smile, warming with his praise. “Nobody could fry chicken like my mama,” I say. I get ready to clamp down on the pain, but I find it doesn’t hurt so much to think of her tonight. “Dad was always bitching, saying she was trying to make him fat.”
     
    “You learned to cook from your mother?”
     
    “Yeah. I knew I was going to be leaving soon, so I started helping out in the kitchen. Mom was a nurse, so we didn’t cook much except on the weekends. I find that I enjoy it. Cooking I mean.”
     
    “You’re good at it, too,” Mike says, looking at the plate of chicken in longing.
     
    “Help yourself,” I say with a giggle. “It’s why I cooked it.”
     
    “I can see why your dad would complain. If I had someone to cook like this for me, I would have the same problem.”
     
    I get a little rush. I wonder if his comment means anything. Then, I decide it probably doesn’t. “You are welcome to eat here anytime you can get away,” I offer.
     
    Mike smiles. “Thank you, Daisy. That’s nice of you to offer.”
     
    “It’s nice to share a meal,” I say, pushing my potatoes around with my fork. “That’s one of the things I miss, eating with my family. We had dinner together every night. Dad said it was the one time of the day the world could just wait.”
     
    “Sounds like you had a great family,” Mike says softly. “I would have liked to have met them.”
     
    I smile. “Yeah. I think they would have liked you.” I’m amazed that I have been able to talk to Mike about my family this long without wanting to cry.
     
    “Any brothers or sisters? Anyone like that?”
     
    “No. Nobody. I have some grandparents, Dad’s mom and dad, but that’s all. Mom’s family is from Alabama, but they’re both dead. Died years ago when I was small.”
     
    “Why didn’t you go live with your grandparents?” Mike asks.
     
    “They’re retired and live in an RV. They didn’t say so, but I knew they wouldn’t want me around. That, and the fact that this is my home. I grew up here. I can’t leave.” I don’t add that this is my last connection to my parents and I can’t bear to sever it.
     
    “So, you really are pretty much on your own,” Mike says.
     
    “Yeah. Pretty much.”
     
    We finish eating, as we talk about my parents and growing up in the Army. I decide that it’s Mike’s presence that allows me to talk about Mom and Dad without falling to pieces. I still miss them, but the pain of my loss is tempered with the memories of the good times. Then, it doesn’t hurt so much.
     
    When we’re done eating Mike helps me clean up. He shuttles the dishes from the table, as I load them in the dishwasher. “So tell me about your family,” I say without looking at him. “You said your parents are dead?”
     
    Mike is quiet, but I don’t turn from the sink. Just when I think he is not going to answer or that he’ll change the subject, he responds, “Not dead. They’re just not my family anymore.”
     
    I didn’t know what I expected to hear, but it isn’t that. “I don’t understand,” I say, as I shut off the water and turn to face Mike.
     
    “They threw me out. Told me not to come back. Ever.”
     
    I’m so shocked, I almost can’t speak. I can’t imagine my parents ever telling me that. “Why?” I ask, the surprise clear in my voice.
     
    “I fucked up. I let my little brother get injured in an accident. Now, he’s a quadriplegic.”
     
    I can see the deep guilt and pain written all over Mike’s face. My heart rends for him. “If it was an accident, how could it be your fault?” I ask softly.
     
    “I should have