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“Are you leaving right now?” he asks, grabbing some of my stuff to help me load the car.
“Yep.”
“Can you stay for one more night? Ollie and some of the guys are planning to get together to celebrate the end of classes. We’re going to Cheerz later.”
Ollie. Oakley’s brother. Chase’s best friend. Which means they’ll likely be there too. No thanks.
“I can’t. I’ve got to get going. My flight leaves in the morning. I’m flying out of the city, and I need to see my parents before I go.”
It’s not a lie. The nearest major airport hub is located in the city where I grew up. And I want to check on my mom before I leave. Lay eyes on her. See if things are going fine, the way she always assures me they are on the phone. I haven’t been around much. I’ve blamed it on school and offseason commitments. But really, I wasn’t sure if I could handle seeing her in person. I’m still not sure.
“Well, it won’t be the same without you around here,” Mike says as we walk out the front door and toss my stuff into the back seat.
“I know.”
Mike smirks.
“I’ll be back in a couple of months. You won’t even know I’m gone.”
We clasp hands and do that side-hug thing guys do.
“Have fun.” He taps the hood of the car twice as I slide into the driver’s seat. “Bring back stories of all the women you met and conquered.”
“Now that,” I yell out the window, “I will do.”
He laughs. I start the engine and shift into reverse, pulling away from the home I’ve lived in since last August. The past year fades into the distance as I drive out of town.
I listen to music to occupy my mind, and the two-hour trip passes quickly. Both of my parents’ vehicles are in the driveway when I reach my childhood home. I stare at the front of the house for a few seconds. The more I’m away, the less this place feels like home. I shift the car into park and grab the smaller bag that I packed for overnight.
The house is quiet when I enter. I stow my belongings away in my bedroom and walk down the hall to my parents’ room. The door to their room is open, and when I glance inside, my mom is lying on her side with her eyes closed. I watch her, trying to memorize the way she looks in this moment. She’s so peaceful, lying there. Her chest rises and falls with each breath. My gut wrenches when I see the cloth covering her head where her hair used to be. Hair that was the same color and texture as mine. She told me she was losing it, but nothing could have prepared me for the way I feel, seeing it. Watching someone you love so much hurting, especially when you’re powerless to do anything to help, is a special kind of torture. I quietly walk away so I don’t wake her.
The kitchen is a mess when I enter. It shocks me for a moment, knowing how much my mom always kept the space spotless. Without really thinking, I start filling the sink with hot water and suds to wash the pots and pans left out. I wrap and store food in the refrigerator. I load everything else in the dishwasher and start it. I’m cleaning the last countertop when I hear the low murmur of a motor out back.
I glance out the window to see my dad pushing the mower. I wonder where he’s been all this time. In the past, the few times he was upset about something, he’d end up in the shed out back with all his tools and equipment, creating a piece of furniture, restoring something, or working in the yard. I’m guessing he’s been out there a lot since Mom was diagnosed.
I stop in my room and change into an old T-shirt and shorts before exiting the back door. My dad doesn’t see me at first. When our eyes do meet, he frowns, which isn’t the reaction I was hoping for. I didn’t tell either of my parents that I was coming home tonight. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I would make it home. But in the end, I couldn’t leave for the entire summer without making an appearance. I was hoping they’d be excited to see me.
The mower engine sputters and dies.
“Hey, Dad,” I say.
“Sam,” he replies in a steely tone. “What are you doing here?”
“I came home to see Mom before I fly out in the morning.”
He nods slowly once and then twice. He spits into the grass, and it pulls my focus to the bulge beneath his lower lip.
“You’re dipping again?” I ask. I sound accusatory, but I don’t mean to. I’m just surprised.
My dad started chewing tobacco about ten years ago. He told me once he liked the buzz it gave him, but that it was relaxing at the same time. He made me promise never to develop the habit. Mom made him quit two years ago, and as far as I know, he hasn’t touched the stuff since. Until now. I can’t believe he started again, especially under the circumstances.
“Not really,” he answers stoically.
I know better than to challenge him right now. He looks ready for a fight. And I seem to be the prime target.
“I’m surprised you graced us with your presence. What time is your flight out tomorrow?”
I ignore the jab. “Six a.m.”
