"That you, Marvin? Breakfast is almost ready." The voice floated to him from the back of the house, along with the sickening aroma of sizzling sausages.

Who the heck was in his kitchen? Surely he'd remember if he'd brought somebody back here last night, he hadn't been that drunk, had he? Yeah, maybe he had. This could be embarrassing.

Marvin staggered to his feet, clutching his shorts around his waist because the elastic had gone. Boy, did his head hurt. He set his sights on where he thought the kitchen door should be; barreled through it, and came to a stop.

The woman at the stove turned. "Now don't just stand there; sit yourself down and I'll have this on the table in two shakes."

Marv fell into a chair, sure now that hed been drunker last night than hed ever been in his life. The woman was old enough to be his mother, for goodness sake. This was way worse than embarrassing. "I...I'm sorry, I don't remember much..." He swallowed. "Um, who are you?"

"What, you don't know your own mother? Eat." She plunked a plate in front of him that held two poached eggs, three fat sausages and two slices of thickly buttered toast.

Marv pushed the plate to the other side of the table. "I'm not hungry."

"My son doesn't like eggs and sausages any more?"

"Alright, it's a good joke. Just tell me who you are, we'll have a good laugh and then you can leave. Are you someone who knew my mother? She died close to ten years ago."

"The funeral wasn't what I wanted."

"Huh?"

"The funeral. Not what I expected from my big-shot son who could afford better since he worked in that fancy-schmancy downtown bank. Not even a headstone..."

"What the..."

"Your whole family's gone, Marvin. Your Aunt Miriam, your Aunt Esther. Even your cousin Philip who disgraced the family by marrying that shiksa who ended up running off with Father O'Donnell who stole St. Barnabus' building fund that the congregation planned on using to build a new steeple. What about kaddish, Marvin? Does my son say kaddish for any of those that loved him? I have to tell you your father is ashamed...the father who would have sold his last pair of shoes to help his son if he needed it."

"For heaven's sake, he died when I was five years old."

"He's ashamed, Marvin. He weeps, Marvin."

Marv lurched to his feet, kicking his chair out of the way. Clutching his stomach, he dashed for the bathroom.

Some hours later, Marv awoke in his bed, tangled in a wad of sweat-soaked sheets. What a crazy dream! He was going on the wagon. This time he really was. Glancing at the clock he saw it was gone mid-day. Not a problem. It was Saturday, wasn't it? He wasn't awfully sure it was Saturday. Coffee...he had to have coffee.

Donning his tatty shorts, he headed for the stairs.

At the kitchen door he halted, gaping in shock. The woman was cracking freakin' eggs into a freakin' bowl.

"Brunch is on the way, Marvin."

"You're...you're not my mother," croaked Marvin."

"Of course not, dear. What, you don't recognize your Aunt Miriam?"