I always thought I would’ve been the one to stay, get married and raise my kids on this land, in this house. But instead, I ended up running as far away from it as I could.
But now, parked in front of the house that means so much to my family, while also being the source of all our grief for decades, I can barely breathe.
I’m glad Leo hasn’t sold it yet. For my parents’ sake, at least.
Leo shuts off the engine of the truck. “You don’t have to gothrough this alone, Em. We are here for you every step of the way,” he says, barely above a whisper.
I swallow hard, nodding as I unbuckle the seatbelt. “I really don’t want to talk about it right now, Bear. Please.”
“Yeah. Got it.” He reaches over and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and gets out of the truck before either of us can say anything else.
I open my door and take a deep breath as my shoes crunch against the fallen leaves and gravel below. Looking up at the house looming over me, for a split second, I expect to see Mom in the window waving at us as we arrive home.
Leo leads the way up the porch steps and through the front door. The familiar creak of the floorboards underneath my feet greets me like an old friend. The smell hits me before I even cross the door frame—a mix of faint spices and something distinctly Mom’s. Taking another deep breath, I recognize her signature smell of cherry blossom and vanilla.
She has been gone for so long, how does it still smell like her?
My heart aches and the pain feels all-consuming. I let myself bask in it until I hear a small, excited squeal, followed by the patter of tiny feet on the hardwood. It is reason enough for me to snap back to the present as a smile tugs at corners of my mouth.
Leo barely has time to set his keys down before Mia comes toddling into the room. Her dark brown curls are bouncing in all directions. With two chubby arms outstretched in front of her, she yells, “Papi!”
Leo crouches just in time to catch her, scooping her up effortlessly. “Hola, mi cielito lindo,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She giggles before turning those big, brown eyes on me. At first, she just stares, her tiny face scrunching in concentration. Then, as if finally recognizing who I am, she gives me a wide, toothy grin.
“Mimi!” Mia yells, tiny fingers grabbing at the air between us.
“Hi, sweet girl,” I say, stepping forward as Leo carefully passes her into my arms. “I’m surprised she remembers me.” The sentence comes out softer than I intend it to as I wrap her in my arms and shove my face against her neck, breathing in her scent of baby shampoo and something sweet. Maybe chocolate chip cookies?
Leo smirks. “You talk to her every day, Em. Of course she knows who you are.”
The guilt of being the long-distance tia has eaten me up inside since not being there the day she was born. I was, and still am, determined to be present in my niece’s life. She’s going to know how much she is loved, regardless of where I am on the planet.
She’s warm and impossibly soft in my arms. She looks up at me with pure curiosity, then pats my cheek with a sticky hand, causing me to let out a watery laugh.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
Mia babbles something incoherent back as she rests her head against my shoulder, completely content.
Leo reaches for her hand and examines the sticky substance. “Did you give my daughter a damn cookie?” he yells through the house.
“Hell yeah, I did.” A voice echoes back, deep and recognizable.
My twin brother.
“I’mactuallygoing to fucking kill you.” Leo storms through the living room and into the kitchen. Still holding Mia, I laugh quietly and follow behind him.
The second I step through the threshold, I’m slammed straight into a memory. The kitchen is warm and alive. Looking around, I see the same honey oak cabinets—thick, glossy and stubbornly orange, like every suburban catalog from 1995. Thetiled countertops are light blue, a huge contrast that hurts your eyes if you look at them too long. There is a ceramic rooster clock above the sink that is still ticking away steadily like it has for at least twenty-five years now. I’m not even sure if the batteries have ever been replaced.
There’s a green and cream floral wallpaper border peeling ever so slightly at the corners. The same linoleum floor, faded in patches where Mom must have stood the longest—by the stove and in front of the sink, right next to the spot where we dropped a giant jar of marinara sauce when we were ten and Frankie dared me to juggle groceries. There’s still a faint reddish stain on the surface. Mom never had luck scrubbing it completely out.
Frankie’s busy finishing setting the table—the same oval, oak dining table from our childhood, slightly wobbly on one leg. Big enough to fit our family, and then some.
I squeeze Mia a little tighter in my arms. My throat feels stiff and I can feel my heart kicking hard against my ribs, like a frantic little bird trying to get out of its cage.
I should feel comfortable in my childhood home, but it mostly feels like the walls are closing inward on me. The weight of a thousand old arguments, unspoken apologies, slammed doors and late-night laughs are pressing down on me all at once.
Blinking quickly, I clench my jaw so tight that a sharp ache shoots down my neck. I force my feet to keep moving forward.
It’s just a kitchen, Emiliana.
