Mom spots me first. Her smile is cautious but real, her purse hugged tight to her side like she doesn’t knowwhat to do with her hands. Dad follows, not quite grim but still wearing that familiar tight-lipped expression like he’s bracing for bad news.
I stand to greet them. It feels stiff and awkward and way too formal, but I don’t know how else to begin.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Mom says, stepping forward to hug me. She smells like the same perfume she’s worn since I was in middle school. It makes my throat ache.
Dad clears his throat. “Hey, Lu.”
We sit. Coffee arrives. The seconds stretch thin between us.
I take a breath and share the news about the tour.
Mom’s face lights up. “That’s so exciting!” she says with a quick glance at Dad.
“Yeah, it’s super cool, but things are happening fast. I leave in three days.” I bob my head and swallow hard, also turning my attention to Dad.
He nods, slow and unreadable. “Well… that’s good news, I suppose.”
Not exactly glowing praise, but not condemnation either.
“I’m relieved but also a little sad,” I say, cautious about giving more. I feel too fragile for judgment. “I worked really hard to get that job,” I continue. “And I’m glad to have a chance to prove it was all worth it, but I’ve really enjoyed being home. Seeing you guys more. Nash…” I flare my hands. “It’s gonna be hard to leave.”
I look between them. My dad’s gaze is steadier than I expected. Not warm, exactly, but open.
“But uh… I guess what I wanted to say is that I want to leave things better than I found them.”
My mom blinks. “With us?”
“Yeah.” A breath shudders out of me, and the words follow before I can lose my nerve. “I don’t like the way things are between us and I’d like to fix them, if we can.”
My dad stiffens slightly.
“I was mad for a long time,” I add. “I felt like you only supported me when I was succeeding. When I was proving your doubts wrong. And I’ve spent years chasing things to keep proving them wrong.”
Dad opens his mouth and I interject.
“I know that you were trying to help me. I’m sorry I never saw it that way. I’d like to stay in contact. Even if it’s messy. Even if we don’t always see eye to eye. I’m not trying to win anymore. I just want to be your daughter.”
Mom wraps her hand around mine, warm and soft. “You always were,” she says, her voice breaking. “We just didn’t know how to love you in the ways you needed.”
I nod, tears burning at the back of my eyes.
“We tried,” Dad says, his voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. But I see now. I hurt you anyway.”
My vision blurs.
“I don’t want to keep repeating that mistake,” he adds. “If you’ll let us… we’d like to try again.”
It doesn’t fix everything. Doesn’t erase the years I felt like I was performing for my place at the table. But it softens something.
And that’s enough to start.
They walk me to the car when it’s over. My dad carries the to-go box with half a cinnamon roll in it and passes it to me with an awkward smile.
“Don’t let it dry out,” he says. “Heat it for fifteen seconds. No more.”
I laugh, a real one.
