Four walls, ugly cabinets, and linoleum floors. But God, does it feel like stepping back into my old skin—one I’m not sure I fit into anymore.
Frankie, who barely looks up at me from the utensils he’s setting down, gives a curt nod in my direction, his expression closed off and obscure. “Em,” he says in a forceful tone.
“Hey, Frankie.”
The tension between us is crackling in the air. I expected this reaction from him, but it still stings to see the resentment in his eyes. Being twins meant that we were undeniably close growing up. Wherever I went, he followed and vice versa. There was never a moment that I would be somewhere he wasn’t. We were attached at the hip, quite literally. But when I left Windhaven, it was as if I took that bond with me, driving a wedge between us. He resented me for leaving, abandoning him, and running away when times got hard instead of staying and continuing to suffer here like they did.
But that’s what I do, who I am. I run.
I can’t blame him for still resenting me, even after all these years. I resent myself for it too sometimes.
Suddenly, the front door slams open and then back shut again. Cam trudges into the kitchen moments later.
“Hey, Em.”
He greets me with a warm smile, his blue eyes, so much like Mom’s, crinkling at the corners. His dark brown curls are longer and more disheveled than I remember. The white chef jacket he’s wearing is stained with God-knows-what and his glasses sit slightly crooked on his face. Setting down several restaurant to-go containers on the counter, he steps forward to give me a one-arm hug.
“Hi, Cam.” I murmur, squeezing him back before quickly pulling away. “Still putting up with these two?”
His laugh is so deep and foreign that it catches me off guard. It must be the first time I’ve heard him laugh in ages. “Someone has to keep Frankie in line, for sure. And Leo just needs to get laid, then he might actually smile for once. You know how they are.”
“Yeah, like you’re so fucking pleasant to be around either.” Frankie chimes in.
“Anyways, let’s eat,” Leo interjects, ever the peacemaker. Hetakes Mia from my arms and places her in a highchair at the table.
“I’m starving,” I admit, walking around and taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.
“You need to stop by the restaurant soon, Em. It’s doing pretty well.” Cam winks at me while scooping something from every container onto plates for us. His tone is lightly joking, but I can sense how proud he truly is.
Cam’s restaurant, Table 47, is the most successful restaurant in town and in the entire region, for that matter. It’s been given countless awards, one of them being theBest Latin Restaurant in New EnglandandTop Cuban Restaurant in the Country. So him saying it’s ‘doing pretty well’ is Cam being humble and too stubborn to acknowledge his own successes.
“If I don’t get food poisoning fromthismeal, I’ll make sure to go check it out,” I tease. He slaps the back of my head playfully and sets down a plate in front of me. My mouth instantly waters as I see arroz con pollo, tostones and yuca con mojo all spread out on the dish.
I haven’t had an authentic, Cuban home-cooked meal in years. The first bite feels like a warm hug and I close my eyes for a moment, letting the familiarity of it wash over me.
It tastes just like Mom’s cooking.
It tastes likehome. Like late Friday nights at this very same dining table. Like Dad humming Frank Sinatra under his breath. Like Mom leaning her hip into the counter with a glass of red wine, rolling her eyes at the chaos she secretly loved.
I’m once again fighting back the tears in my eyes. I knew coming home was going to be emotional, but holy shit… I am a wreck.
Swallowing hard, I blink down at my plate, pretending like my eyes aren’t burning.
The room spins on without me. Leo and Cam are in one of their classic sparring matches.
“I told you, it’s supposed to be ateaspoonof salt, not a damn handful.” Leo’s brows are drawn, both arms crossed over his broad chest as he glares at Cam from across the table. Cam shoots him a withering look back, throwing his napkin down beside his plate.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybeyoushould’ve been the damn chef in the family.”
Leo scoffs under his breath and turns away towards Mia, muttering something about culinary tyrants as he scoops another spoonful into her mouth.
Frankie slouches in his chair at the far end of the table, elbow hooked lazily over the back. His jaw clenches as he flicks a piece of yuca around the plate with his fork. His dark brows twitch every few seconds, whether from annoyance, boredom or both, I can’t tell. The scowl deepens between them and gives him away. He is seconds away from snapping at both Leo and Cam.
I keep quiet, not having it in me to play referee tonight. Instead, I simply sit there, slowly forking some food into my mouth, letting their bickering roll over me like background noise. Like a song I don’t mind hearing, but don’t need to sing along with. There’s something comforting about the noise. It’s predictable and safe. It's something I'd had for so long, and now gone so long without.
Letting my shoulders relax a fraction, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding since the train had screeched to a stop earlier this evening.
And then?—
