I glance at Ethan, who sits on the recliner with an exhausted-from-traveling-all-morning Sam in his lap, watching some ultimate frisbee competition on the television. A wave of frustration washes over me at my older brother’s lack of caring. It’s not that I expect him to go out of his way to apologize and beg for my forgiveness for the wretched lies he took part in, but the seeming lack of remorse on his end rattles me.
Sam notices me in the doorway, crawls off my brother, and runs to bear hug me. “I’ve missed you, Meme.” The smell oflasagna mingles with her floral perfume and apricot shampoo. I wrap her up, snuggling my face into her blonde hair.
“I’ve missed you too, Sammie.”
“Mmm.” We give each other one last squeeze before my mom pushes between us.
“You’re back, sweetie.” Mom holds me tight, and I return the action even though there’s still much to be discussed between us. She’s my mom, and I love her more than anything.
We pull apart, her hands moving from my upper back to my biceps as she stares at me with water-filled eyes and a sad smile. The wrinkles in her forehead and the black circles under her eyes cause my chest to ache. Coming out of my initial anger, I feel terrible that I put her through this past week of absence, only allowing her to know I was safe and alive.
I remember the hazy weeks after I woke up from the coma. Mom mothered more than I could ever remember her doing. She’s always hovered and spoken her opinions, but this was a whole new level. She attended to my every suspected need, rarely leaving my side as my ribs, lung, and head healed. She fretted over my food and water intake, and any time I got a small ache in my head, she’d make me lie down and stare at the wall until it passed. Dad stopped her on more than one occasion from dragging me to the hospital over it.
A couple of months later, I found my voice. I had started writing, had gone back to work, and finally decided to move into the lightly used camper I had bought off the Hillsdales as soon as I heard they were selling it. Bless them, they gave me a supermassive discount. I think the whole town felt sorry for me because Mom wouldn’t let me go anywhere without her. While I was at work, she would call me during every class transition and break.
That conversation rings loudly in my head.
“Mom,” I had snapped. “I need my space! Quit smothering me!”
The stunned, confused look in her eyes as we talked underneath the magnolia tree standing erect on the side of the house almost had me backtracking. Almost.
“What do you mean? I’m only trying to make sure you’re safe and healthy, sweetie.”
“I’m twenty-six, Mom.” I had fought to keep the fearful quiver out of my voice. “I can take care of myself, can look out for myself. I don’t need your hovering and fretting.”
Mom had opened her mouth. Closed it. Huffed. Tugged at her jean shorts. “I love you, Esme. I don’t want to see you dead.” Her voice had raised, and she crossed her arms. “Is that not allowed? Is a mother not allowed to worry about her injured daughter who almost died while halfway around the world?”
“Of course you’re allowed to worry,” I had said, attempting to work around her straw man argument. “All I’m saying is that I’m an adult, and I have to stand on my own two feet and get my life back on track.”
She was quiet for a minute before she dropped her hands to her side and nodded her head, letting out a long-winded sigh. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just—” She sniffled. “You scared me, Esme. I didn’t know if you’d wake up. You were texting me and saying you were safe and having a good time, and then you missed your flight home and we got a call from the police.”
Her pain was palpable, so I wrapped her in a tight hug as we cried together. From then on out, she slowly loosened her hold on the metaphorical leash she had around me.
Maybe I would have understood better if I had known the truth of what happened in Bora Bora and why she clung so closely to me.
Shaking the memories from my head, I smile at Mom. “It’s good to be home. Lasagna smells amazing.”
“Made it just for you, sweetie.”
“Hey, baby girl,” Dad pronounces, walking around the wall that divides the living room from the kitchen. “Glad you’re back. How was Bora Bora?”
Though his voice is upbeat, and there is a smile on his face, I can see the relief in his eyes and, like Mom, the dark circles underneath. Guilt over greatly worrying my parents nestles deep into my bones. “It was bright. Hot. Humid.”
“So not that much different than Mississippi, huh?” Dad jokes.
I hug him, my arms not quite fitting around his rotund belly. “Nope. Not really.”
“Well, lunch is ready. Y’all come on to the kitchen.” Mom unties her apron as she shuffles across the tile floor of the kitchen, Dad and I following behind her. Ethan and Sam enter from the other side. It’s a small space, but we have just enough room at the round table for all five of us to sit comfortably. We load our plates with lasagna and sit down. Dad makes Ethan say a prayer over the food, and then we dig in. In the awkward absence of speech, the metal forks clang against the glass plates, the sounds of chewing drive me up the wall, and Ethan, in his boyish grossness, farts.
It does, however, break the silence.
Mom smarts. “Ethan Marshall Jenkins! You know better, son. I didn’t raise you to be a heathen at the dinner table.”
Sam’s expression matches Ethan’s smug face, though she does have the decency to elbow my brother. When Sam looks my way, I roll my lips into my mouth to keep from smiling.
Just like old times, I think to myself. It’s then I realize my brother is doing what he does best—just trying to make me laugh. That’s his way of apologizing, even if it isn’t the most emotionally mature way to handle things. Like me, he doesn’t like it when there are disagreements and fights within our familyunit, even if he’s the source of over half of them with his reckless spending.
To save him from further chastisement, and to get this over with, I clear my throat. “So, let’s talk about the elephant in the room, shall we?”
