I’m home, but the house is gone. Not a cigarette burning, not a dirty countertop.

At Kadds, JD was our father, Joan our mom. The air was always too warm, thanks to the ovens. “Portion control” was almost nonexistent. If JD wanted to sell Italian ice and gyros alongside pizza and burgers, it didn’t matter if he didn’t sell a damn one, he’d still do it. Countertops were messy until the end of the night. Ingredients were never inventoried, if JD thought he needed something, he’d buy it. Even if he didn’t need it, he’d buy it.

I remember a stack of R-rated movies next to the miniature grey television that stood in the kitchen. Broken beer bottles and cigarette butts out back. The hint of stale cigarettes in and around. Voices always booming, a “f***” or “s***” as every other word. I remember the first time I heard JD swear was in that kitchen. I was seven.

Joan was simply an accomplice. Bound to Kadds by marriage, the mother of the restaurant. There were mornings with her, going in at 8am, chopping up enough salads to feed two hundred people, counting out four hundred sets of silverware. At age six, these mornings turned to days, playing Old Maid and eating hot dogs at the prep table. At twelve, I was alongside Joan, prepping and counting, hours on days, weeks on months. Until her accident, until she should’ve died. This didn’t stop Joan; sure, it slowed her down, but never stopped.

JD an alcoholic, drank himself nearly to death. Failed liver, heart attacks, failing kidneys, seizures during dialysis. Once JD was gone, it fell on Joan. Unpaid bills, sales, now some drug dealer owns it.

Now I see the empty parking lot, cigarette butts and broken glass swept up. The countertops are clean but abandoned. Lights haven’t turned on in a month, food hasn’t been in there for six. The oven still pushed along the wall, but the December chill is in the air. There is a leaking pipe in the corner of the kitchen, dripping once every few seconds. Cobwebs line the insides of the oven. No booming voices, no R-rated movies. Nothing left but skin of a body that used to once thrive.