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“It’s so good to have you home.” She stepped back, looking up at me with shining eyes.
“You know I live less than two hours away. You guys can come visit any time.”
“I know.” She swatted me. “Come inside, come on. Your brother and Zara are in the living room with Dad.”
I could hear a baseball game blaring from the living room, and I dropped my bags by the door and followed Mom inside. Dad was in his recliner, and Beckett and Zara were on the couch, sharing some intimate whispered conversation, which Mom interrupted by shouting, “Look who’s here!”
Dad pointed the remote at the TV, quieting the noise, and Beck and Zara rose to their feet.
Beckett had done well for himself where his fiancée was concerned. Zara was smart and funny, and gorgeous on top of that. I was happy for him. My little brother deserved the best.
“Hey guys,” I kissed Zara on the cheek as I gave her a gentle squeeze, and then I hugged Beck, making sure to pick him up and shake him a little bit when I did it.
“Hey!” he protested as I squeezed him a bit harder than I needed to, and as soon as his feet hit the ground, he did a quick swipe of my wrist, stepped sideways and pulled me into a chokehold. Fucking Aikido.
“Oh no you don’t!” I locked my arms around his waist as soon as he let go, and we danced around like that for at least a minute, both of us shouting profanities as we put Mom’s living room trinkets in mortal danger.
“Twatwaffle!” Beckett yelled as I stomped on his bare foot.
“Turkey dick!” I responded when he tried to lift a knee into my family jewels.
“Knock it off, you assholes!” Dad was on his feet, and Beck and I immediately dropped our arms and stepped apart. It took a lot to get Dad out of the recliner, and we’d been well trained.
“Sorry, sir,” Beckett muttered, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Hey Dad. Sorry.” I stepped closer to Dad, and his hand shot out to shake mine.
“I was going to tell you how proud I was of you. Before you and your brother reverted back to elementary school.”
“Sorry,” I said again. “We can’t help it.”
“Try,” Dad said sternly, glaring between us. Then his shoulders relaxed slightly and he grinned. “Great season, Sylvester.”
My parents were the only people who didn’t call me Sly. Them, and Beck when he was trying to piss me off.
“Thanks, Dad. Next year we’ll get the cup.” We’d gotten close, but the damn Roosters had beat us in the playoffs. Still made me grumpy to think about.
“Come into the kitchen for a drink,” Mom suggested, and when Dad moved back toward his chair, she gave him her angry-Mom voice. “You too, Sam.”
Dad shrugged, and we all headed to the kitchen, where Mom announced the cocktail of the evening. Ever since I was a kid, Mom had been trying out new cocktail recipes and subjecting us to them. I really would have preferred a beer, but tonight I was presented with something blue in a martini glass instead.
“We have to drink them in here or take them outside. These will stain the carpet,” Mom said when each of us stood in the kitchen awkwardly holding a glass of blue liquid.
“Let’s go outside then, so we can at least sit down, Violet.” Dad was frowning, but his voice held that same hint of amusement it always did when he was talking to Mom. Or about her. She was quirky, and she kept him from becoming the grumpy and impossible man he was evidently bred to be. It had always been this way, and seeing them together, seeing that nothing had changed, made me feel that same sense of nostalgia I’d gotten driving back into the neighborhood.
We headed out, and Mom pulled the screen on the back door.
“You’re gonna let the AC out, Violet.”
“I want to be able to hear the doorbell is all.” Mom smiled, but didn’t say anything else as the scent of some devious plan wafted by on the breeze. I sipped my drink, realizing that it was most likely related to Beck and Zara, or possibly, to me. Nothing for it. Mom was Mom.
We arranged ourselves on the patio, and held our glasses aloft, toasting my brother and Zara.
“I’m really happy for you guys,” I told them. “Congratulations.”
The way Zara smiled at my brother before we each sipped the blue atrocities Mom had made caused a little surge of something to poke me in the gut, but I did my best to drown whatever it was with blue stuff.
“What is this?” I asked, halfway through what tasted like a melted Slurpee with a kick.
