"There's my boy!" Mom pulls me into a hug that smells like citrus and home. "I was starting to think you got lost."
"Had to unpack a few things." I follow her inside, the familiar scent of dinner wrapping around me.
Dad's already at the table, newspaper folded beside his plate like always. But something's different. His usual scowl is replaced with whatmightbe an attempt at a smile.
"Son." He nods, and I brace for the lecture that doesn't come.
"Got the apartment sorted?" Mom asks, already piling my plate with more food than any human could possibly eat. "You remembered to check the water pressure? And the windows? Winter drafts can be terrible in those old buildings."
"Dorothy," Dad cuts in, surprising me. "Let the boy breathe. He just got here."
Mom beams between us like we've announced world peace instead of managing basic civility.
"The apartment's fine," I say, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Small, but it works."
"I still don't understand why you couldn't just move back in here," Mom says, gesturing around the dining room. "Your room's exactly how you left it. I could've made your favorite meals every night."
"Mom." I take a bite of casserole to buy myself time. "You know I was well overdue for my own place."
She waves me off with her fork. "I suppose. It's just . . . now my nest feels empty without both of my boys here."
Dad reaches over and kisses the top of her head. "We can get you that puppy you've been wanting for years."
"Greg Miller, are you serious?" Mom's entire face lights up.
"Figure it's time," Dad shrugs, but I catch the small smile tugging at his mouth. "House is too quiet anyway."
"Oh, honey!" Mom leans over and plants a kiss on his cheek, and I have to look away, because witnessing your parents being disgustingly adorable is still weird. But there's something different about them too. Softer, somehow. Like it wasn't only me who changedwhile I was gone.
"Martin mentioned the renovation they did last spring," Dad continues, seamlessly shifting back to me while Mom practically bounces in her chair planning puppy names. "New wiring in the whole building. Should be up to code now."
"That's . . . good?"
"And the job?" Dad continues. "The computer thing?"
"Programming," I correct automatically, then soften it with, "it's good. Working remote means I can do projects from anywhere."
"Smart." He nods. "World's changing. All digital now."
The conversation settles into something almost comfortable. Mom fills the silence with stories about her book club's latest drama, while Dad occasionally offers commentary that doesn't sound completely judgmental. It's weird. But nice?
When Mom gets up to clear plates, Dad clears his throat, and the sound makes my shoulders tense on instinct.
"Listen, I wasn't . . . great. At expressing my concerns. It came out like criticism, always riding you about decisions, and that wasn't . . ." he stops, jaw working. "That wasn't what I meant to do."
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. "Dad—"
"Let me finish." He stares at his empty plate like it might help him find the right words. "Your mother and I, we struggled early on. Really struggled. I didn't want that for you boys. But instead of saying that, I just . . ." He shrugs, the gesture almost painful. "I could've worded things better. Should have been there for you—for you all—more, instead of working so much"
"It's fine," I manage, even though it's not really fine. It's complicated and messy, and somehow exactly what I needed to hear.
"I'm not making excuses," he continues gruffly. "Just . . . I see now that I pushed too hard. Made you think you weren't . . ." He trails off, but I hear the word he doesn't say.Enough.
Mom chooses that exact moment to return, practically floating into the room with a steaming dish.
"Now that my men are done brooding," she announces, setting down an apple pie, "who wants dessert?"
The tension breaks like a fever. Dad chuckles—a sound so foreign I almost look around for pod people—and my shoulders finally drop.
