The Aunt

I was so frustrated at Nonna. Why does she have to be so freaking officious?



But it isn't like I could escape. And today I stand here at this white-stucco house with dark blue trim covered in ivy. I stand in a place I haven't stood for ten years.

I never thought I would come back here. I dreamed about it, but it was a place in the past-the eight wonder of the world. And as Nonna rings the doorbell, I realize everything the same. I hear the sing-song tune entering the house. I see the coarse, beige carpet with its furniture resembling some library of the Russian nobility. Nothings changed excluding the new flat screen TV and a Guitar Hero console in the den.

But even as I stand in 1998, I can't bring myself to a level of comfort. I stand at the edge of the hall that connects to the family room. And judging by Her glances, I can tell I am not truly welcome here. I was so angry. Sure, this was my parents' fight. But still: how dare I come here and steal their guests? how do I have the audacity to enter this house like nothing happened?

I have to. And I stand by my mom's green Acura MDX. Displaying a smile, ear-to-ear, like I am OK with everything. But as soon as everyone gets settled in the car, I'm stepping on the accelerator and heading back to 2008.