I swallowed hard, “Probably not. My dad says I have diarrhea of the mouth.”

Travis just laughed and tussled my hair, “Your sister wasn’t kidding about you was she?” I shrugged and tried to be very interested in my home fries, ketchup or none.

“Travis?” my mom asked sweetly, “Pancakes? Home fries? Sausage?”

“Wow, Mrs. Bunten,” he beamed genuinely, “So many options. It all sounds so good I can’t decide, so how about some of everything?” Was mom blushing? This had gone from scary to just awkward.

“Well alright then, a healthy appetite. I’ll grab you a cup of coffee too,” mom gushed. It was sickening. As she turned back to the counters and the stove, Travis sat down beside me at the table.

He leaned in close, “You know, nobody else knows this, and I didn’t realize it until we got here, but I’m from here.” He told it like it should be a big deal. I shrugged. He just laughed, “My parents split up. My dad stayed here, not that I’ve seen him in forever. I think our house is right around here too.”