Page 23 of Three Months Yesterday

A wave of dizziness washes over me, my knuckles going white around the steering wheel, as my eyes close and I rest my head against my headrest.

There’s a moment I consider how scared I should be—these dizzy spells are happening more and more—but I’m also exhausted. An unplanned eleven-mile run probably wasn’t the smartest idea.

I can easily run that distance—when I’m prepared and actually in training mode—but yesterday wasn’t supposed to be that kind of run.

When I woke up this morning, I seriously thought about canceling all my responsibilities and sleeping the day away. My messed-up brain didn’t let me have the thought for a full thirty seconds before I was up and moving, my run this morning much shorter than normal.

Plus, the idea of telling my mom I was missing Sunday night dinner—even though we all had dinner together three nights ago—caused more anxiety than the idea of skipping work or any of my other responsibilities.

A soft knock on my window is the only precursor to my door opening and the nausea from my dizzy spell is back in full force.

Panic probably shouldn’t be my first instinct, especially when I’m parked in the safety of my parents’ driveway, but horror stories of the most obscure crimes run through my mind, reminding me no one is ever truly safe from everything.

“Hey there, scaredy cat,” Wyatt taunts, as his grinning face comes into view.

“Jerk. Now I wish I threw up on you,” I mumble, pushing him out of the way as I slip out of the vehicle.

He laughs, completely ignoring the agitation on my face as he pulls me into his side. “What are you doing sitting outside?”

“I just parked,” I fib, hoping he hasn’t been watching from one of the front windows. “I thought you were still out of town this weekend.”

“My client wasn’t sure what their schedule looked like.” He shrugs, leaving his arm around my shoulders and guiding us toward the house we grew up in. “They ended up flying into DC last night and will be there for a few days.”

“So, you’re slumming it with us?” I shift, pressing my elbow into his ribs as we hit the stairs. I may have put a little more force into the jab if the grunt from him is anything to go by. “Sorry.” I chuckle, not sorry in the slightest.

Before he can retaliate, I jog up the stairs and push the door open, nearly missing my favorite little man in the process.

“Hey, bud.” I swing Jackson up in the air and settle him on my hip.

I pause for only a moment, noting my dizziness and nausea have passed before I keep moving through the front hall and into the kitchen where I know everyone else will be. “Hello, family.”

“Hi, darling.” Mom smiles from her spot at the kitchen island. She doesn’t move, simply offers her cheek for a quick kiss as I move closer.

Seeing the supplies my nephew must have left behind at some point, I settle into the seat next to her and situate Jackson in my lap so he can continue to color.

“Pumpkin.” Dad glances over his shoulder, giving me a warm smile before pulling a roast out of the upper oven.

My mouth waters at the sight. My mother is an amazing cook and makes dinner most nights but there are a few dishes my father makes that blow hers out of the water, and his roast is one of them. But I know those biscuits Dad pulls out of the lower oven are all Mom.

“This is rather fancy for a Sunday dinner, especially since you just put together a big feast a few days ago,” I muse, suddenly a little suspicious.

Sunday night dinners have been something we’ve done for as long as I can remember. With six years between Wyatt and me, and another three years between Aiden and Wyatt, my parents have actually spent more time in this house with only one or two children around instead of all three. Making a mandatory weekly dinner helped ensure we were all together at least for a little bit.

Of course, once Aiden left for the police academy and Wyatt dropped out of college, Sunday night dinners with everyone became a rare occurrence.

Although the reason for Aiden’s move home is horrifying, we couldn’t be happier he’s back. And I think, in the long run, Aiden will be happier too. It just might take him a little longer to figure that out for himself.

Even with them being a rarity these days, Sunday dinners with all of us are normally easy meals. Things that only take an hour or so to make. Dad making a roast and Mom making homemade biscuits? That’s dinner saved for big events…or guests.

Mom stands from her seat, moving to help Dad plate the meal. More proof this dinner is not what it was supposed to be—Thanksgiving leftovers and easy conversation.

“Your brother invited a friend to join us.”

“Which brother?” I squint, hoping it’s Aiden, but knowing it’s not.

It might sound silly, but my brother doesn’t have friends. At least not anymore.

“I did.” I spin to find both my brothers strolling through the door, but it’s the brother I didn’t expect who speaks, giving me hope once more the guest tonight isn’t who I think it is.