She looks the same. Older, yeah. Sharper, maybe. The way she holds herself now is guarded, armored up. Her blonde hair pulled back, neutral clothes, face expression I can’t read. Not anymore. But the second our eyes lock, something in me snaps back into place. Sixteen years gone, and still—it’s her.
I don’t smile. I can’t. I’m just trying to breathe. She doesn’t move either. Just stares at me like I’m a ghost. Maybe I am. Maybe we both are.
Sixteen years.Sixteen fucking years.
What the hell am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, long time. Sorry, I broke up with you over the phone. Sorry, I ruined everything. Sorry, it took my mom’s funeral to get you back here.’ But then she steps toward me. Slow, careful, like I’ll shatter if she comes too fast. Honestly, I think I might. She stops a few feet away, hands gripping her bag strap like it’s keeping her upright.
“Hey.” That’s it? That’s all she’s got?
“Hey.” And as I hear myself saying it back, I sound just as stupid.
“Wow, it’s been… I… I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry about your mom, Ethan.” I nod. “Thanks, Liv.” She’s struggling too. “She was… she meant a lot to me. You know that.”
“I know.” God, this is the dumbest conversation we’ve ever had. What the fuck is wrong with me? Please fix it. “She talked about you, you know,” I say, softer. “Right up until the end.” Olivia’s eyes shine. Shit, now I’m making her cry. “I wish I had called her more,” shewhispers. I don’t answer. I don’t trust myself to. She shifts, glances over her shoulder like she’s about to bolt. And then Leo’s voice cuts in behind me. “Hey man, I think the car’s out front already… Oh! Hi, Olivia.”
She turns, snapping back into composure. “Hi, Leo.” He gives her a half-hug, the kind you do at funerals or, in this case, airports. “I’m so sorry about Larna,” she says, looking at both of us. “Thanks,” Leo says.
“Well, I should—” She looks past us and spots her mom. “Yeah. I’ll see you around,” I say, softer than I mean to. She offers the smallest smile. “Yeah. See you around, Ethan. Bye, Leo.”
I watch her go. Her mom pulls her in, then waves at me. Olivia laughs at something she said. And they walk off arm in arm. She doesn’t look back. Not once. And I don’t blame her. Leo nudges me toward the exit. We grab our bags and head for the car. I just realized that I’m not just grieving my mother; I’m grieving her too.
The house smellslike lilies and lavender. Dad’s finishing up with his dinner, and Maggie’s cleaning around the kitchen.
“Oh, my boys, how were the flights?”
“Long,” Leo and I say in unison, it sounded like we rehearsed that answer. We all laugh. Finally, a good, real laugh. “Anyone want coffee, tea, or alcohol?” Maggieasks, holding up a bottle of whiskey like it’s medicine. “Your old man is tired,” Dad says, pushing back from the table. “I’m going to bed to rest a bit, but I’ll be down for dinner. You kids, have a drink. Just one.” He gives a small smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes, and disappears down the hall.
“I’ll take one,” Leo says, nodding at the bottle.
“What the hell, give me one too.” I need that drink. Maggie nods, pours three glasses, and sets them on the coffee table. The whiskey stings going down. We sit in silence for a minute, the weight of the house pressing in on us, the flowers, the half-cleaned dishes, Mom’s sweater still folded over the arm of her chair.
“She would hate this,” Maggie finally says. Her voice cracks, but she laughs through it. “Us sitting here like some sad movie cliché, drinking Dad’s good whiskey.”
“She’d be yelling at us to turn on music,” I add. “Something loud. Probably Santana.”
“Or Gloria Estefan,” Leo says, smirking. “God, remember how she used to dance in the kitchen to ‘Conga’ while cooking arroz con pollo?” We all laugh, the sound awkward at first, then easier.
“She had no rhythm at all,” Maggie says, wiping her eyes. “None. But she didn’t care.”
“She said confidence was half the dance,” I say, shaking my head. “The other half was wine.” Leo grins, raising his glass. “To Mom. Worst dancer in the room. Best at everything else.” We clink glasses. For a second, it feels like she’s here. The silence creeps back in, softer this time. Maggie leans back against the couch. “You know,being the oldest doesn’t get easier. I’m still the one who has to keep you idiots in line.”
“Please,” I scoff. “You peaked when you taught me how to sneak out without Dad hearing.”
“That was me,” Leo cuts in. “I’m the mastermind.” Maggie gives him a look. “You were eleven. You couldn’t even reach the window lock.” I smirk, shaking my head. “Yeah, you were the decoy. The kid who got caught so Maggie and I could get away.” Leo groans. “Still bitter about that, thanks.” We all laugh again, this time real, and Maggie lifts her glass. “She’d like this. Us together. Laughing. Even if it’s through the worst night of our lives.”
We raise our glasses again, the three of us clinking them hard enough to echo. “To Mom.”
After a while and a couple of whiskey glasses later, I excuse myself and take the path out back to the guest house. The place is small. It’s a converted cottage with creaky floors, a kitchen that eats half the space, and a room where the giant bed barely fits. It has a second room that’s currently just storage, but it has potential. The most important thing about this place is that it’s quiet. The porch opens straight onto the lake. It’s the best view in the house.
My phone buzzes as I stare at nothing.Hannah. I stare at the screen for a second, then answer. “Hey.”
“Hi, love.” Her voice is soft, the way it gets when she knows I’m close to the edge. “How was the flight?”
“Long as hell.”
“Are you okay?” I close my eyes. “I don’t know.”She doesn’t rush me. Just let the silence hang. She knows better than to try to take the words out of me. “The girls want to say hi,” she says. Static, then giggles. “Daddy!” Claire’s voice is bright and sweet. “We made a card for Grandma Larna.” Leight chimes in, “And we made a playlist of her favorite songs. For the car ride. I put the old Selena one first.” My throat tightens. “That’s perfect, baby. She’d love that.”
“When are we coming to see you?” Claire asks. “Soon. After the service. I’ll call before bed, okay?”
