“Not really,” I answer her over the low hum of the music and laughter coming from the backyard.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Cole,” Emma says and rests her hands on my shoulders. “This is going to be overwhelming. All of those people out there will want to say hi, shake your hand, hug you, kiss you, or whatever, and you’ll probably feel likeyou’resuffocating.”
I narrow my eyes and give her a frustrated glare. “That’s not helping.”
“Let me finish,” she says. “But with all of that going on just remember that these people are genuinely happy to have you home. Mom, Dad, me, Jenna, the whole damn party is full of people who’ve missed you like crazy. Enjoy it.”
Emma pulls me down for a tight hug before releasing me and leaving the study. I stand there in the dim light for a good few moments, gathering my nerve and myscrew itmindset before heading outside.
Strings of white globe lights hang from the pergola as I walk across the brick patio and take in the rest of the scenery—a bar set off in the corner, tables covered in white linens scattered around the property, bundles of pale flowers and greenery, and a wooden dance floor with a band playing on an adjacent stage. This looks nothing like a birthday party to me, but it reminds me more of a wedding reception.
I make the mistake of standing at the top of the steps too long and looking out upon the mass of people gathered in small groups here and there. The whispers start, and I hear them before I notice the heads turning in my direction. Keeping my head forward, I find my parents talking with a few of the guests. My mother looks great and not at all like a woman who just turned fifty. Her soft brown hair barely has a strand of white, and her skin is that of a much younger woman. My father, five years senior to my mother, wears his salt and pepper strands with pride. They both look healthy. Happy.
My heart is racing like crazy, but I make my way down the steps and across the manicured lawn to where they stand. The feel of everyone’s eyes on me makes me feel nervous and on edge. But then my dad’s face turns toward me as he still laughs from the conversation he’s in, and he does a double-take before his expression falls. His eyes are glued to me as I watch him take my mother’s arm and gesture for her to look my way. Her mouth forms a soft “O” as her eyes widen and glisten with unshed tears.
“Cole?” she says and her eyes narrow as if she’s trying to figure out if it’s really me or not.
“Hey, Mom,” I say and take in a deep breath. “Happy birthday.”
“Cole,” she breathes, and she practically throws her champagne flute to the lady next to her as she rushes over to me, flinging herself into my arms and holding me tight. “Oh my god, you’re really here! Not just a figment of my imagination.”
I wrap my arms around her and return her embrace as a mix of emotions swirl within me—joy, relief, pain, heartbreak. Her tears, although happy, slice right through me.
“Loosen the death grip, Nancy, the boy’s turning blue.”
I glance up and see my father’s smiling face as my mother leans away from me slightly—her arms stay locked around me.
“It’s good to have you home again, son,” my father says, laying his palm on my shoulder and shaking my hand.
The next forty-five minutes go by in a blur. I’m passed from person to person, shaking hands, receiving hugs and well-wishes, and‘bout-time-you-finally-came-home’s. Everything’s going great, and even though I’m suffocating in kind gestures, I’m good. Until I get the first “Thank you for your service to our country,” and comments about the good men we lost.
Wedidn’t lose anyone.Ilost someone. Jenna, George, and Nina …theylost someone. Anger quickly builds and spreads throughout my body, but I contain it and work to push it deep down within me. These people, with their innocent words and good intentions, have no clue how much their niceness hurts.
I politely excuse myself, accept a few more gracious handshakes, and go in search of Jenna. I haven’t seen her all night. And right now, I need her.
