shorthand

I didn't grow up with friends coming over. I had an alcoholic father and a mother who took all her calls in the bedroom. I'd creep close to her door, my bare feet quiet on the carpet, listening to her words through an inch of wood.

My father moved out when I was in third grade, and took all his rage and fury with him. The house was quiet again. He returned again, and left again, and by then I was old enough to stay out late with my mother's car, doing anything to keep away--and my friends away--from home.

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I don't know how to entertain. I want to please everyone -- my alcoholic father, one mistake away from a horrible fury. My sweet, long-suffering mother, too delicate to consider. All my friends who gave me reasons not to go home. How do you entertain when you've never built a home? I spend long hours cleaning my house, sterilizing the surfaces, preparing food, hiding traces of my life.

 How will my friends feel in my space? Will they judge the moss growing on the patio outside my bedroom? Is the toilet clean enough? Do I have to hide every stack of paper? Why can't I just leave all these things as they are, and talk about them like a human?

As it is, I last had people over on Halloween, almost a year ago. I baked a pizza with hand-made dough in the shape of a jack-o-lantern, with pine nuts for its eyes and teeth. I put the camping chair inside and tried to get people to feel comfortable sitting down. I didn't offer alcohol--perhaps for obvious reasons. And everyone was sent home with a treat bag.

It wasn't casual, but there were people in my home.

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How do I hang out with people, casually? How do I invite them into my home without putting on a show? I don't want to be the little girl hiding behind the door. I want the door to be wide open, welcoming my friends inside.