I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve recently moved in with my boyfriend. One weekend, I go back home to visit my family, but nobody is able to give me a ride back to the train station when my visit is over. My mother suggests that I ask my paternal grandparents. I call my grandma and she agrees to help me out.

The day before I leave, my grandmother calls me and says that they’re going to pick me up early so we can go out for breakfast first. I’m a little surprised by the early time she gives me, but I am still not suspicious.

Morning arrives. The sky brightens while the mist floats a few inches off of the ground. A blue heron stands like an old tree in the pond next to the house. My grandparents arrive, too. I climb into their van with my backpack.

My grandpa is relaxed in the driver’s seat as the van slowly makes its way through the country side. My grandmother is relaxed, too, and she sits up tall. The radio filters through the van quietly. We pull up in front of a Catholic church.

“We just have to go in here for something first,” my grandma says evasively. “It’s just for a minute.”

While we’re sitting through the hour-long mass, I think, Are we still going out for breakfast, though? Because I didn’t eat anything.