Fuck.
I should say something. Reach for something between us. Be honest. Or at the very least, change the damn subject. Ask how Mom’s really doing. Ask what Sabine’s been up to. Anything.
But I don’t.
Not because I don’t care. Just because I’ve gone too far down the path I’m on.
So I let the silence hang and turn back to the window.
Sabine just keeps driving, knuckles pale on the wheel, humming along to the radio like she needs the sound more than the song. A few minutes later, we pull up in front of the house.
The porch looks the same. Splintered wood along the edge. Wind chimes clinking in the breeze. The garden is exactly how she said: a wild mess of green and color. Mint and basil crawl over the steps, marigolds bloom beside tomato cages. The air smells alive, like earth and sunlight and crushed leaves.
It feels like a dream I forgot I ever had. One I’m somehow standing inside again.
“You weren’t kidding about the plants being a jungle,” I mutter as Sabine kills the engine.
Her eyebrows lift, and the smile she gives me is instant, like she’s been waiting for something, anything, to grab onto.
“Hell yeah,” she says. “It’s a goddamn botanical fortress. You should see the back. She’s got this whole setup with compost, trellises, and I swear to God, a scarecrow that looks like Dad. I think it’s therapeutic. She stabs it with a garden fork when she’s pissed.”
That gets a real smile out of me. Not much of one, but enough. “For real?” I ask.
Sabine grins. “Yeah. She’s turned into an occasional lunatic. I don’t even know what’s worse—that, or the fact she collects moon water now.”
“Moon water?” I lift an eyebrow. “What, like... she leaves jars out overnight and drinks them or something?”
Sabine snorts. “Nah, she doesn’t drink it. She just... blesses her plants with it? Charges crystals? I don’t know, man. She’s on some next-level Earth witch shit these days. But she’s happy. Which, you know... we’ll take it.”
We sit there for a second, not moving. The engine ticks as it cools, and the buzz of cicadas fills the silence. I rest my hand on the ruck in my lap. My heart kicks up for no good reason. Just the sight of this place. This porch. This moment.
“You ready?” she asks gently.
“Yeah,” I say, though we both know I’m lying. She doesn’t call me on it. Just opens her door with a creak and steps out.
She walks ahead, brushing past the overgrown mint as it rustles against her jeans, and climbs the porch steps. I follow, slower, my hand dragging across the rail. The wind chimes above us rattle softly. It's the same rusty set from when we were kids, still tangled with the bead we glued on one summer. I thought it was long gone.
The screen door groans open.
“Guys?” Sabine calls. “He’s here.”
Everything looks just like it did when I left. Like time hit pause the second I walked out. The same chipped paint. The same smell. The air inside carries traces of rosemary, lemon cleaner, and something warm from the oven.
Then I cross the threshold, and it all hits at once.
"Look who’s finally home!"
"About time!"
"You hungry? We got your favorite!"
Hands pat my back, squeeze my shoulder, pull me into hugs before I can react. My ruck drops to the floor with a dull thud. My boots are still dusted with the last place I stood before I boarded that plane. My mouth kicks into autopilot, blurting out the usual empty phrases.
Yeah, good to see you too. Yeah, I’m good. Yeah, it’s been a while.
I hate this shit.
I also love it.
