TWO
THE SONG OF A HEAVY CHEST
SEBASTIAN
Mom wasthe first to notice me. Tears rolled down her face before she even wrapped her arms around me.
Then my sister, Mila, appeared in the doorway behind her. She tied her jet-black hair back as if that would help her see me better. Once Mom let go of me—after what felt like five days—Mila hugged me, too.
By then, half the family had squeezed into the foyer, including my aunt Diane, her hunky Greek husband holding their two-year-old bundle of joy, my great-aunt Darcy, already rubbing her elbow as if she were getting ready to ram it into my side, and my cousins and their families. They all surrounded me as if I were the first person they had seen in years, as if they couldn’t believe civilization outside the valley still existed.
For a second, it was a rush. They all seemed so happy to see me, as if the three years since my last reunion had felt longer for them than for me. All the smiles and tears of joy were contagious, and for a moment, I gave in to them. I shook their hands, returned their hugs, and told everyone how good it was to see them—until the face that had made me stay away for so long appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.
Dad didn’t push his way through the crowd. He only offered a reserved smile and a nod that I took as a kind ofwelcome home. I nodded back, but before I could check whether he was wearing the same festive button-up shirt he wore every year, he shuffled back into the kitchen, leaving the affection to the others.
“Okay, everyone,” Mom said, raising her voice. “If that’s not a sign to get the party started, I don’t know what is. So please, head on over.” She pointed toward the back door, which led through the yard to the old barn Dad had remodeled into a party room the year after I left for college.
Everyone except her and me followed the order without question. I wanted to freshen up and change into something clean to get rid of the airplane smell and look more the part. My presence alone stood out enough, so I had to blend in more if I wanted to survive the night. Mom didn’t let me slip away, though.
Once it was just us, she hugged me again and pressed her face into my shoulder. “I still can’t believe it,” she said, her voice muffled by my jacket. “You’re here.”
“Surprise.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“It was a last-minute decision,” I replied. “And I wanted to surprise you.”
That wasn’t the full truth. Three weeks ago, she told me on the phone that Grandpa was sick. She sounded so worried that I realized staying away wouldn’t just mean avoiding Dad. It also could mean missing the chance to say goodbye to one of the few people I’ve ever truly cared about. However, I knew that if I told them beforehand, Dad would question everything, and I might back out at the last minute.
“Well, you definitely surprised everyone,” Mom said. She slung her arms around my waist and guided me toward thekitchen, as if worried I’d run off if she didn’t personally escort me to the party room.
The kitchen looked mostly the same as I remembered—dark and smaller than it actually was, thanks to the low ceiling. The table had already been cleared. All the plates and pots were neatly stacked on the drying rack, basking in the sunlight. When I still lived here, it was always my job to clean up the coffee pots and plates after the first gathering at noon. I never liked doing it, but being the good son, I never complained. Instead, I’d usually put everything in the gigantic sink and leave it until the afternoon, just so I’d have an excuse to sneak away. Whoever was in charge of that task now clearly didn’t follow my example.
Dad stood in front of the refrigerator, studying a sheet of paper posted on it. His left thumb was hooked into his pants pocket. He leaned in as if whatever was written there were the most interesting thing in the world. Only when Mom cleared her throat did he look up, his expression shifting as if he had just realized we were standing next to him.
We held each other’s gaze for a few long seconds, neither of us daring to look away or speak. It felt like a standoff, the kind where whoever gave in first would be admitting that they had been wrong all along. Dad would never do that. He had always “known” what was best for everyone. If I’d just let him micromanage my life, maybe I wouldn’t have become such a disappointment.
He forced a smile, then turned and faced the dining table behind him. “So you’re back,” he said, as if breaking the silence first didn’t count as long as I couldn’t see his lips move.
“Only for one night.”
“How did you get here?”
“Taxi,” I quickly replied. It wasn’t the truth either, but it was all they needed to know.
Dad dropped into a chair, blocking the way into the living room. His left hand found the table, tapping against the wood.
Mom let go of me and walked toward the dish rack. She braced herself against the counter and stared out at the tiny buds on the cherry tree in the backyard, swaying in the wind.
I turned toward her. “How’s Grandpa doing?” He was the only person I hadn’t seen since I arrived, which didn’t help the uneasy feeling in my gut.
“Oh, now you care,” Dad barked.
“Dany, please,” Mom said a split second later. She glanced over her shoulder. “He should be here in about half an hour. Something came up at the clinic.”
“Why is he working?”
A tired smile crossed her face before she looked back outside. “You know your grandfather.”
