Page 90 of Winging It with You

“I know I don’t say much or give my two cents to you boys too often,” he says, his voice steady. “But listen to me for a moment, Theo. No rash decisions made in the heat of moment, out of anger or fear or whatever it is you’re feeling right now, ever tend to be the right ones.”

“I can’t…” I start, but he removes a hand from the wheel, and interrupts me.

“Take it from someone who’s on the move more often than not, son,” he says, a sad honesty in his tone. “If you’re going to run, make sure you know what you’re actually running from.”

He doesn’t say another word.

We continue driving, and the lights of the airport in the distance eventually make their appearance, a beacon of impending freedom from what’s now turned into an instant nightmare. Arthur pulls off the highway, following theDeparturesigns, which loop us toward yet another terminal.

We’ve spent the better part of the last three weeks inairports, but this time, I don’t have to worry about Asher getting lost or complaining that he doesn’t have enough snacks.

This time, I’m alone.

/////////////

After sixteen hours of intercontinentaltravel, middle seats, and back-to-back delayed flights, I take an Uber from the small regional airport down familiar tree-lined roads before being dropped off at my childhood home. Grabbing my duffel from the trunk—which was thankfully prepacked ahead of elimination—I take in the lake house before me. The rustic shingles are exactly how I remember them, and the natural stone gleams in the last remnants of moonlight. The ivy on the side of our two-story home is overgrown in some areas, and I can see the subtle glimpses of fireflies dancing down by the dock. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s something special about Madison in the summertime. There’s a sweetness in the air, one you don’t get anywhere else. I walk up the moss-covered pavers toward the soft-yellow front door of the home that raised me. I can see a warm light coming from the kitchen.

Someone’s awake.

Someone who I haven’t seen in person for many years.

Someone I pray is happy for this unannounced early-morning visit.

I can’t tell you the last time I stood outside this door, the one that was always decorated with a larger-than-life wreath for each and every season. I look to the far end of the long porch and see that the American flag is still hung in the same spot between the two white rocking chairs. I smile at the memory of my father raising it when I went off to boot camp all those years ago. Honestly, I don’t think I’d ever seen him thatproud—when I decided to serve the country his family came to in search of a better life.

But that was before everything changed.

When I was discharged from the Navy, being loved by them suddenly felt like walking on eggshells. It killed me to be away from them when I needed them the most. But at the time, it felt like the best thing to do for everyone. It felt easier.

But being back here again, surrounded by the stillness of what once was, I’m not so sure that was the right decision.

“Theo?” My mamá’s voice breaks behind me, a sound that ricochets in my chest with an immediate sadness and overwhelming love. I hadn’t heard the door open, but the second I turn to face her, she runs across the porch toward me, her soft flannel robe trailing behind, and wraps me in the tightest mom hug. She smells like coffee and floral perfume, and I can tell that even though it’s summer, she’s been sitting by the lit stovetop fireplace on our back patio.

She smells like home.

“Hi, Mamá,” I say, resting my cheek on the top of her head. She squeezes me tightly and sobs against my chest. I know my mother—I’m sure she’s convincing herself that if she just holds on to me tight enough, I won’t leave again. The thought makes my eyes water. “Oh, Mamá…don’t cry.”

We stand holding each other in the quiet morning light as the sun starts to peek over Lake Mendota. Just as quickly as summers spent on the water with family come crashing to the forefront of my mind, guilt comes rushing after it—at all this time spent apart.

“What…what are you doing here, Theo?” my mother asks after a moment, her eyes bright despite the redness. She wipes them with the sleeve of her robe while still holding on tome. Looking at her round face, I can see she’s aged gracefully. I’ve spent my entire life being asked if I was Carla Fernandez’s younger brother, a comment that she sure reminded my sister and I of whenever it came up.Which was often.

“Can’t a guy come home to surprise his mother?”

But really, there’s no point in even trying. She’s looking at me with the same knowing eyes she’s had my entire life. The ones that have always been able to sift through whatever nonsense her children, or anyone for that matter, were trying to convince her of. Like the time in my freshman year of high school when she knew with a single look that Bobby Hale and I weren’treallygoing with his family on an overnight camping trip but instead trying to sneak into a senior party to drink for the first time.

“Come on, mijo,” she says, patting me on the side of the face before taking my hand and leading me through the front door. “Let’s go inside. I’ll put on some more coffee, and you can tell me all about it.”

My mother busies herself with the coffeepot, the same one my family has had for years, as I take a seat at the wooden kitchen island. I run my index finger beneath the counter, looking for the initials my sister, Elise, and I carved into it with the small pocketknife my abuelo gave me before he passed away.TF & EF.If our parents knew about it, they never said anything. It was our little secret. Elise has been, and always will be, my secret keeper—just like I was hers.

“Are you in trouble again?” My mother’s back is still turned to me, but I can tell she’s nervous to ask.

“No, Mamá…It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it, son?” she asks, turning around to face me. Her brown eyes are filled with tears again, and I can see the confusion and hurt in them.

So I tell her everything.

Mostly about Asher. How we met in the airport for the first time, how he looked like he needed someone to be in his corner, and how for reasons I still cannot explain, I couldn’t imaginenotbeing that person.

---