“Here,” Sophie laughed, poking her bulky black backpack. “You didn’t sell my clothes and the stuff in my room, did you?”
“No, it’s been made into a shrine. Offerings of microwave popcorn and strawberry yogurt are made daily,” rumbled a deep voice behind her.
“Daddy!”
“My Sophie!” The lion roared over his cub, swinging her around as she squealed into his arms. Putting her down after a moment, Samuel Usman tilted his head and gazed at his little girl grown up. “You look different.”
His wife burrowed into his embrace, giving him an armful of family on each side. “She lookshappy, Sam.”
“Oh, guys. Stop. Don’t go all Hallmark on me.” Sophie blushed and pushed gently out of the smothering embrace, but it was too late. Her mother was tearing up and her father was puffing out his chest and making shushing sounds while trying not to cry himself. “You two are ridiculous. I need to go to the bathroom. I refused to use the toll plaza pit stops.” Sophie dragged her cello and book bag to the sanctity of her room.
It was untouched. Actually, it was better than untouched, it was hotel-room ready, all of her stuff was still in her semi-organized piles and stacks, but the whole place smelled of lavender laundry soap and fresh vacuuming.
Compared to her dorm in Pettiford, her family’s modest apartment was palatial. The bed was sure a lot better. The bathroom could wait another five minutes.
With a gleeful giggle, Sophie threw herself back onto her bed and made a comforter-angel, reveling in the fact that she actually had space to sprawl.
Although it didn’t have one increasingly important thing....
I made it safe.Her fingers tapped the screen.
Jesse:Good. I didn’t want to call if you were driving.
How’s your mom?
Jesse:Good. Making pie.
She laughed again, typing,I have to go help with that in a minute. It’s traditional that we all stress ourselves out trying to cook the bird and two pies in the same tiny oven in one day.
Jesse:I should have come with you. That’s gotta be a good show.
Her fingers hesitated.You can come if you want.
There was a long delay between her invite and his next massage. She freshened up and retrieved her plushy slippers from under the foot of the bed. Just as she was slipping the phone into her back pocket, she heard the familiar chime.
Jesse:I wish I could.
Jesse:Love you.
Sophie sat down hard on the padded ladder back chair in her room, the one her family referred to as “the cello chair”.
Love you. Love you.
He’d never said that before. She’d never said that before.
More and more, as their kisses intensified and their nights together grew longer, she ached to say it.
Argh! She was leaving him hanging.
“MOM!”
“What? What?” her mother plowed through the door, her apron bunched up over her neck as if she’d been in the act of pulling it on. “What’s wrong?”
“Jesse texted me. He said he loves me. I— What do I say?”
“What’s wrong?” her father was hot on her mother’s heels, still unbuttoning his navy blue uniform shirt.
“Sam... girl issues! Go!”
