Eighteen: Visitation.

Staring at the beautiful dishes mom served on the dining table in front of me, my eyes grew wide, my mouth literally watering. I didn't even know when I dropped my elbow on the table, cupped my chin in my palm, a sigh leaving my lips. Mom was indeed the best person in my world. Not just for her food, but for everything.

"Oh, mom," I spoke in a low tone, not even knowing how to state my appreciation.

I couldn't take my eyes off the super-enticing dishes. The aroma alone could block my breath. On the left side of the small table, there was a bowl of baked bison meatball, together with brisket burnt ends and corn dogs. Some reindeer sausages stood by the right side, just close to a little amount of lobster Mac and cheese. Mom appreciated local American foods, so I expected this.

"More coming," she announced. Turning to the direction of her voice, I gaped. She was holding a bowl of pizza soup. And walking to me, she grinned from ear to ear.

"Mom!" I whined. "Do you wanna kill me with f