The house looked exactly the same.
Red brick colonial in a neighborhood where everyone’s lawn looked identical, the kind of place where people measured their worth in property values and the right country club membership. I’d grown up here, spent eighteen years trying to fit into spaces that were never quite the right shape, and I still hated the sight of it.
Mom met us at the door, pulling me into a hug before I’d fully crossed the threshold.
“You’re here. Finally.” She stepped back, hands on my shoulders, cataloging. “You look thin. Are you eating?”
“I’m eating.”
“He probably lives on pizza and beer,” Dad said, brushing past us. “College students.”
Mom’s smile tightened. “Let him settle in, Richard. He just got here.”
The house smelled like cinnamon and burned sugar—Mom had been stress-baking since before my flight took off, probably. The kitchen counter held the evidence: three pies—apple, pumpkin, and something with a lattice top that had gone slightly lopsided—a cooling rack of snickerdoodles, and a green bean casserole already assembled and waiting for the oven.
“Emily’s coming tomorrow,” Mom said, following me toward the stairs. “She wanted to come today, but Mark had to work. You’ll see her at dinner.”
“Great.”
She caught the flatness in my voice, her expression flickering. “Seth. Be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
“You know what I mean.”
I took my bag upstairs to my childhood bedroom, which had been converted into a guest room approximately ten minutes after I’d left for college. The twin bed with its neutral bedding. The desk cleared of everything personal. Even my old posters were gone, replaced by generic landscape prints that could have come from any hotel room.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone.
No messages from Tanner. Not that I’d expected any—he was at his mother’s house, probably helping with dinner, surrounded by people who actually wanted him there.
My phone buzzed before I could decide whether to text first.
Thinking about you. Hope you’re okay.
Something in my chest loosened. I typed back before I could overthink it.
Surviving. Miss you.
Miss you too. We’ll talk when you’re back?
Yeah. We will.
I stared at the messages for a long moment, then set my phone on the nightstand and made myself go back downstairs.
Dinner was exactlyas uncomfortable as I’d anticipated.
The dining room table could seat eight, but it felt crowded with just the three of us—me, Mom, Dad, and all the things we weren’t saying. Mom had made beef stroganoff with egg noodles and a Caesar salad, the kind of meal that was supposed to feel like comfort but mostly just felt like an obligation.
“So,” Dad said, cutting into his meat with surgical precision. “Your mother tells me you’re still wasting your time with that sports medicine nonsense.”
“Athletic training. And it’s not nonsense.” It was ironic that he could acknowledge that athletic training was an offshoot of sports medicine while still calling it nonsense.
“It’s not a real career.” He didn’t look up from his plate. “You could have done something respectable. Business. Law. Something with actual prospects.”
“Richard—” Mom started.
“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking, Barbara.” Dad set down his fork, finally meeting my eyes. “Four years of college, and what do you have to show for it? A degree in playing babysitter to athletes who’ll forget your name the second they graduate. And you can’t even do anything with your degree when you graduate. You have to get another one before you can do what you want to do.”
