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One day when I was home from university for the summer, we had lunch around my family's dining room table. Some non-family member had joined us for the meal. After lunch, Daddy went back to the office. My mother and I, the guest, and my sister Sari stayed at the table, my mother and the guest smoking and drinking coffee, the table littered with the remains of the meal. We talked. We told jokes.
Half an hour later, two other people stopped in to see us. They sat at the table (we cleared off the plates to make room) and we found a cake or some such dessert to bring out with the new pot of coffee.
We talked. We gossiped. One of the newcomers left, but her sister arrived just as she left, so our numbers stayed the same. More cake. More coffee. Time to empty the ashtrays.
Another hour went by. We talked. We laughed. We told more jokes and gossiped some more. Someone else arrived. We were still around the table, still talking.
I took a few of the dirty plates to the kitchen. One of my brothers arrived home from his summer job. The sun was streaming in the west-facing windows. We offered iced coffee, iced tea, cookies. Some of us harmonized on a song or two.
Finally, Daddy arrived home, bringing two friends with him. He made a large pitcher of manhattans. There were nine people around the table, which had not been empty all afternoon. Now another brother came home.
After a second round of manhattans, dinner materialized. Guests stayed. Family members stayed. Ten people ate dinner, drank more coffee, smoked more cigarettes.
At nine, my mother rose from her chair. The guests departed. The talk stopped. Someone took up a position at the sink to start washing dishes.
The table was empty. Tomorrow would be another day.
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