“That’s so boring,” I complained, folding my arms over my chest.
My mom snorted a laugh. “You love California. Why are you pouting?”
“It’s not California that’s the problem,” I answered then grumbled, “It’s having to move again.”
My father’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “I get it, and I’m sorry.”
We were driving from Texas to California because Dad had new orders. Every couple of years, the Air Force picked a new place for us to call home, so I’d learned not to get too attached to anything. Except that wasn’t really how it worked. I couldn’t spend years somewhere and not find my spot at lunch, or figure out which teacher was cool and which one wasn’t. I still made a best friend. Then one day, I’d have to leave and start over somewhere else.
I tried anyway. I always did.
We’d lived in San Antonio the longest we’d stayed anywhere else, and I’d hoped that would be where we stayed forever because I’d started Brazilian jiu-jitsu and knew the gym, the drive there, the smell when I walked in, and the sound of Coach Matt telling us to line up when class started. I knew who I liked partnering with when we drilled, and who always went too hard because he was trying to show off.
I’d been doing BJJ for three years. Dad had signed me up because he said I had too much energy and nowhere to put it. I didn’t like it at first, but then something clicked. My feet stopped feeling clumsy. My hands started knowing where to go instead of grabbing whatever was in front of me. Breathing got easier, even when my chest felt tight and my face grew hot. Then something would finally work, and Coach Matt would look at me and say, “That’s it, Rowan. Good job,” which made me want to do it again.
I loved it.
I loved it so much that thinking about never getting to go back made me mad all over again, because it wasn’t fairthat grown-ups got to make the decisions while kids were just supposed to deal with it. Dad got orders, Mom packed, and I had to pretend it didn’t bother me that life would keep going without me. My friends would still have lunch together. They’d still walk to class together. They’d still play at recess. I’d be the kid they talked about for a week, then the kid who had never been there at all.
And yeah, I had a phone, and Mom kept saying I could text, and Dad promised we could visit, but that wasn’t the same as sitting next to someone at lunch and laughing so hard that chocolate milk came out of our noses. Texting wasn’t the same as being able to knock on Tommy’s door and ask if he could come outside.
It just wasn’t fair.
“We’ve been in the car for three days,” I pointed out, because it was true and awful. “Three. Days.”
“We’ll be in Sacramento soon.”
“Not soon enough.” I slumped back in the seat.
After some long, boring minutes, Mom pointed to the windshield. “That’s the exit for Grandma’s.”
“I know.” I rolled my eyes. “We’ve been here before.”
Her smile softened as she looked at me. “Exactly. We’ve been through this, and now we get to stay.”
Stay.Yeah, right. They bought a house this time, but we were staying with my grandma for a few days before we could move into what my mother called her forever home.
Forever.
What a joke.
Thisforeverhome was a house I hadn’t seen. My parents had done everything in one weekend while I’d stayed behind at Tommy’s. I guess they thought my opinion didn’t matter, and it was okay because the new house had a pool just like the one we had rented in San Antonio.
“Your mom’s been waiting a long time for this,” Dad added.
She reached over and grabbed his hand. “Don’t make me cry in front of our child.”
“I’m not a baby,” I reminded her.
She glanced back at me. “That’s how it works; you’remybaby, and we’re not moving somewhere we’ve never been. This is Sacramento. My hometown. We can see my family whenever we want. I’m not going to have to plan a whole trip just to hug my mom.”
Dad grinned at her. “So you’re going to start showing up unannounced?”
Mom smiled. “At my mom’s house? Absolutely.”
I couldn’t help smiling too. Seeing my grandma often was going to be awesome because she made the best chocolate chip cookies.
My mom pointed at me. “See? You’re already happier.”
