Walking into my grandparents’ house, suitcases by my side, the smell of caramel hits my nose. The smell was like getting hit by a boxer in the face. I took a second to appreciate the certain sent after a seven hour flight and another two hours of driving.

“Rhys! You are here,” my grandma screams from the kitchen, poking her head around the corner.

“Hello Grandma, take your time,” I say as I lug the luggage through the tight hallway.

“Hi Rhys. How are you and your trip?” my granddad says from his newspaper reading chair.

“I’m fine, just tired from the trip.”

My parents show up from parking the car. We sit down and start to eat. The dining room is crowded in ornaments, an arrangement of memories: old cars, old trains, super old figures. It is like walking into a antique store.

After the main course, the special of the night arrived: the chocolate caramel shortbread. This dessert is the dessert to put me in my comfort place. It just calms my troubles. It also tastes incredible.

My grandma put the specialty on the table and says, “So I believe you two have something to talk about.”

“Yes. Rhys, there is something we need to address. We are moving again,” my mom says.

This information came to me like a truck. “We are moving to America, a place near Chicago, called Wisconsin,” my dad says.

“Ok…please tell me it isn’t soon.”

“We will move in December.”

With that information I took a breathe to  relieve my stress, luckily it was August. I went back to eating my shortbread and played everything over in my head—all my memories made, and all of the positives that would be to come.