I sleepuntil noon because that’s what my body does after closing shifts. By the time I shower, dress, and actually feel like a functioning human, it’s early afternoon and the guilt has already set in.
I haven’t been to my parents’ house in almost a week.
For most people, that’s nothing. For the Dixons, it’s practically abandonment.
The drive south takes twenty minutes, and I spend every one of them rehearsing my smile in the rearview mirror. Practicing the way my face needs to look when Mom asks how I’ve been. When Dad studies me with those quiet, worried eyes.
Fine. I’ve been fine. Everything is totally, completely fine.
I’m not even convincing myself.
I pull into my parents’ driveway, the weight I’ve been dragging around feeling a little lighter for the first time in days. Home. Even with everything falling apart, this place still feels like safety.
Their house sits in a subdivision on the southern edge of Vegas, a two-story white stucco with a flat roof and the kind of front porch where neighbors stop to chat. It looks exactly like every other house on the block, except for the flower beds.
Those are mine.
I planted every bloom myself. Marigolds and petunias and lavender that perfumes the air when the wind blows right. Coming here to tend them is the closest thing I have to a garden of my own, and some days, kneeling in the dirt with my hands buried in soil is the only thing that makes sense.
I park in the driveway and head straight for the flower beds, crouching down to inspect the damage. A week is too long. There are weeds everywhere.
“I was wondering when you’d come check on our babies.”
Mom steps onto the porch, my heart lifts at the sight of her. Same blonde hair, same brown eyes, same soft smile that makes everyone feel like the most important person in the world. She’s rounder where I’m curved, a bit shorter than me, but we’re cut from the same cloth.
“Looks like we’ve got weeds to deal with,” I say, focusing on a dandelion instead of all my problems. “You helping or ‘supervising’?”
“Don’t be a smart ass.” But she’s laughing as she grabs her gloves from the garage.
We kneel side by side in the dirt. The sun is warm on my back, not quite brutal the way it gets in deep summer. A breeze carries the smell of lavender and fresh-cut grass from somewhere down the street.
This. This is what home feels like.
“Sarah’s been having the worst morning sickness,” Mom says as she yanks a dandelion. “Poor thing can barely keep anything down.”
“Is she drinking ginger tea? That’s supposed to help.”
“I brought her some yesterday. She said it helped a little.”
I picture my sister-in-law, green-faced and miserable but still glowing with that first-trimester joy. She and Greg have wanted this baby forever. The morning sickness is just the price of admission.
“And you won’t believe what I caught your father doing yesterday.” Mom’s voice takes on that disapproving edge I know so well. “He snuck out to buy fast food for lunch.”
I bite back a laugh. “The rebel.”
“It’s not funny, Sierra. He has high blood pressure.”
“I know.” I do know. I also know that Dad has been eating nothing but grilled chicken and steamed vegetables for two years, and sometimes a man needs a burger. But I keep that opinion to myself.
“Your cousin Audrey is seeing someone new,” Mom continues, moving to the next patch of weeds. “A middle school teacher. He runs a video game club for his students, stays after school twice a week on his own time.”
So much for poor Devon. That lasted, what, a week?
“Sounds like a prince.”
“He really does seem sweet.” She sits back on her heels, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. “I’m just glad she’s happy. There were stars in her eyes when she looked at him.”
Here it comes. I can feel the question building like pressure before a storm.
