She can’t hold in her laughter anymore—she throws the sign on the ground and runs straight for me. Her arms tackle my neck so hard I’m convinced some sport missed out on recruiting her.
I laugh, but with her squeezing my neck it comes out more like I’m choking on air.
“Sorry, sis!”
“I can’t believe you actually made that sign!” My eyes widen at her. I look around and still see people staring. Probably wondering what felony I committed.
“Embarrassing you is like my second job. I had to greet you in the only way I knew how.” She shrugs, because embarrassing me is her favorite thing to do.
“You don’t even have a first job. You’re finishing college.” I narrow my eyes.
She makes a show of contemplating by putting her index finger on her chin and looking up.
“You’re right. Embarrassing you is my only job.”
Mom finally comes and gives me a big hug.
“Filha! You look so European!”
“I’m not even sure I know what that means,” I say as I raise my eyebrows at her.
She waves a hand. “You’re pasty pale from not being in the sun. And so thin too! I’ve got your favorite sitting at home that will do just the job.” She pats my face with a motherly touch.
“You have somebrigadeirosready?” My eyes light up and my taste buds flare to life at just the thought of my favorite condensed milk chocolate truffles.
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you so I had Ilda whip them up for you.”
I sigh happily as I walk.
It really is good to be home.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, suddenly realizing he’s not here. I’d been so wrapped up in our greeting, I hadn’t even thought to ask.
“He got caught up with work, but he’ll be home by the time we arrive. He really wanted to be here to see you, though,” Mom says, her voice tinged with regret.
“That’s okay, I get it. I’ll see him soon enough.” I smile to show her I’m not upset.
The airport doors open and a hot blast of wind engulfs us as we make our way out, like it wants to carry us in a bubble of heat. The wind carries the smell of salt and the sun hangs low in the sky, ready to clock out of its shift for the day.
Climbing into the car, rolling the window down and having the sweet breeze ruffle and frizz my hair up feels like the most natural thing in the world.
We talk about my flight and some of the adventures I had as we make the trip back to the farm. Turning onto the drive, the house comes into view, its blue shutters glowing in the light, flower bushes spilling color along the path, and mango trees standing proudly to the side. Memories flood back—countless afternoons spent scrambling up those mango trees, the scent of ripe fruit in the air, and the laughter of long-ago summers echoing in my mind.
I remember the day I ate about ten mangos in one sitting. Let’s just say I spent the entire evening in the bathroom.
As we walk up to the porch, I see my dad approaching from the side of the porch.
“Filha,” he says with more excitement than I’m used to hearing. Dad’s aristocratic background taught him to be on themore reserved side than the side that shows any emotion. So to see the emotion on his face makes my heart tighten a little.
“Pai!” I say and wrap my arms around him.
We walk into the house and I’m greeted by the rest of the family. Oh, and the new addition of the parrot, of course. It seems he learned to squawk, “Lizzie Bell” instead of “Elizabeth”, but it turns out I like Lizzie Bell. Maybe he and I will get on just fine. I mostly get on well with my mom’s animals. It was always the housekeepers my sisters and I liked to terrorize most growing up. I feel so sorry for the times we wreaked havoc on them.
“I taught it to sing, ‘oo-na-na’” my sister Lara gives me a conspiratorial wink. She whispers something to the parrot—whose name I learn is ‘Pimenta’ which means spicy. Because apparently, he’s a spicy bird that comes out with all sorts of nonsense. The fact Lara taught it to sing the song that embarrassed my mother like never before makes him embody the namePimenta.
“Don’t even get Pimenta started on that!” my mother yells from the kitchen.
“oo-na-na, oo-na-na,” the parrot squawks.
