I don’t answer her because I think the question was a rhetorical one—a question a mother has to ask her child no matter what’s happened, from a sliver in the thumb to a ten-year kidnapping.
I don’t see my brother or sister anywhere. It isn’t until I find myself looking for them that I realize they don’t live here anymore. They’ve moved on. I’m twenty-seven, the oldest child, and still living here. I never really checked out.
“Welcome home, sweetheart.” Mom’s eyes are teary when she smiles at me.
I try to smile back, but it’s impossible. This isn’t home. It doesn’t feel like it anymore. When I think about what does feel like home, my stomach churns. I miss the house. I think I might even miss him.
There really is no hope for me.
NOTHING ABOUT THE house I grew up in has changed. The walls have a fresh coat of paint and my dad’s ratty recliner’s been replaced by a new one, but everything’s exactly how I remember it. All the same.
I should feel right at home, like I’m picking up where I left off, but I don’t. This house feels strange, foreign. I feel like a guest in someone else’s home, afraid to go through the cupboards or kick my feet up on the couch.
This house hasn’t changed, but I have.
It’s not really the house that feels foreign—it’s me being inside it, like I don’t fit. The way my parents have hovered over me all day, it’s like they sense it too and are trying to figure out a way to make me fit. No matter how many times they try though, I’ll never fit. My edges are too jagged.
It’s dinnertime, and the smells of prime rib and garlic have been rolling from the kitchen since this afternoon. It used to be my favorite meal: red meat, garlic mashed potatoes, and sautéed green beans. From the smells alone, I know it’s not my favorite anymore.
My brother and sister are supposed to come here, and Mom’s even set the fancy china on the table. The good wine’s been pulled out, and Dad has on his tweed blazer. The meal has the feel of a celebration, but my heart isn’t in it.
I know it should be, but that doesn’t change that it isn’t.
For my family’s sake, I’ll pretend to celebrate with them. They deserve their celebration, and maybe one day, once I manage to un-mess up myself, I’ll be able to join in.
“Do you need any help, Mom?” I call into the kitchen from my perch at the front window. The sheer curtains have been drawn, but I can still see outside. The media circus hasn’t shrunk in the eight hours since I arrived; it’s gotten bigger. Now big floodlights extend from the top of news trucks. Some of the stations are familiar local channels, some aren’t, and some of the bigger trucks have national stations stamped on their sides.
“No, sweetie, you just relax. It will be ready in five.”
She’s been telling me to rest all day, but I’ve spent the past ten years resting. Besides, I’ve got too much nervous energy to relax. I need something to keep my hands and mind busy.
“What would you like to drink, Jade?” Dad calls from the kitchen.
It’s a strange place to find him. Dad used to spend the hour leading up to dinner in his chair, watching the evening news.
I can guess why he doesn’t keep that tradition anymore though.
“Water, please,” I say.
“I picked up some of your favorite kind of soda.”
“Water’s good.” I haven’t had a soda in ten years. It would probably tear my stomach apart now.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Jade? Sam and Connor will be here any minute.”
I turn away from the window. The cameras are still firing. Not as much, but they’re still going off. “Where do you want me?”
“In your usual seat,” Mom says as she settles a glass bowl of mashed potatoes on the table.
I stare at the table. I can’t remember where my usual seat was. I know it was close to my dad, but was it to the right or the left of him?
Mom catches me staring and pulls out the chair to the right of my dad. “Here you go.”
I take a seat and wait. It’s so quiet in the house now. Without Connor’s alternative music blasting from his room and Sam and her friends giggling behind her bedroom door and Mom’s jazz streaming from the kitchen and Dad’s nightly news echoing from the living room, it’s silent.
Now that I’m home, my parents seem to have no idea what to say to me. I don’t exactly know what to say to them either.
“Look at this beauty,” Dad trumpets as he carries in a huge roast.
He sets it right in front of me, and I have to scoot my chair back from the smell. It’s almost offensive now. The pools of red-stained grease below the meat have me squirming in my seat.
Outside, the noise level rises right before the front door explodes open. Connor wanders into the living room first, looking a little shocked, but his face clears when he sees me.
“Hey, Jade.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes a seat in what I guess is his usual seat. I can’t remember that either.