Eric Dinnocenzo - The Tenant Lawyer by Eric Dinnocenzo

after work. It was somewhat of a sore spot between him and my mother, who was of the opinion that he drank too much. She often brought it up in a bitter way when they had little spats.
    “Well, we’re going to eat soon, so let’s get a move on,” my mother said good-naturedly.
    “Since I don’t live here anymore, technically I’m a guest in your house,” I joked. “The polite thing would be for you guys to serve me.”
    My mother laughed.
    “Is that what you think?” my father said, raising an eyebrow.
    “It’s not what I think,” I said. “It’s what I know.”
    My father smiled just a little, while my mother laughed.
    At home when we ate, we kept to the same assigned seats that we had back when I was a kid: clockwise from the seat closest to the kitchen it went my mother, sister, father, and then me. My sister was two years younger than me and lived in Sterling, a small town fifteen minutes north of Worcester. She was married with a five-year-old daughter and a three-year-old son. My father and I both got up from our seats and helped set the table. Soon my mother served the chicken pie and we all sat down to eat.
    “So it must be nice to have a home-cooked meal?” my mother asked.
    “It is. Especially your chicken pot pie,” I said, giving her the compliment I knew she was looking for.
    “Thank you. I made it because you were coming over for dinner. We hardly see you anymore.”
    Just as I thought, I told myself. Now comes the guilt trip. “I know. I guess that I usually just instinctively head home after work.”
    “You could always stay overnight here once in a while,” my mother suggested. “You wouldn’t have to do such a long commute.”
    “I am staying over tonight.”
    “Or you could move back home with us,” my father joked. “I’ll get you working on chores right away.”
    “Great, when can I start?”
    My mother smiled. “We just miss seeing you.”
    “C’mon, don’t try to make me feel guilty.”
    “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”
    “I’m just busy. I have stuff going on at work. I have to see Sara, too.”
    “Well, you two are together quite a lot,” my mother said in a slightly negative tone.
    “I don’t want to get into it, Mom,” I responded. My mother was not a big fan of Sara’s and hadn’t been since the early days of our relationship. We were staying overnight at my parents’ house for Thanksgiving, our first one as a couple, and were in my bedroom and got into an argument and Sara began yelling at me, and my parents heard it. From that day forward, my mother branded her a wild and out-of-control person. She never said it outright, but I was certain that she didn’t want the relationship to last.
    “Anyway, let’s change the subject,” my mother said. “You said you saw Father Kelly at St. Mary’s. How was that?”
    I made an effort to keep my irritation in check and keep the conversation going in a pleasant manner. “It was fine. There are a lot of meetings, though, with this particular case, so things are moving kind of slowly. But it was good to see him. It’s always a little weird, though, since I don’t go to church anymore.”
    “Well, you should go, at least on holidays,” my mother said.
    “Yes, I know, mother,” I said in a tired tone. “Any more instructions for me tonight?”
    My father chuckled. “Kind of touchy tonight, isn’t he?”
    My mother changed the subject by saying, “Well, your sister is doing fine. She visited last weekend. You should see Nora and Ryan, they’re so cute. When was the last time you saw them?”
    “I don’t remember exactly. A few months ago, maybe. I need to see them again.”
    “Ryan is such a character,” my mother continued. “We were watching TV the other day and there was a picture on the screen of a big snow-capped mountain, and he said, ‘Boy, there are so many things I haven’t seen before.’ It was adorable.”
    “That’s funny,” I said.
    My mother mentioned that a new