Page 268 of What We Brave
For months.
Carlos slows down. The trees open up and there it is — the village. A cluster of buildings along a ridge, tin roofs catching the late afternoon sun. Smoke from cooking fires. A dog trotting across the main road like he has somewhere important to be.
And at the end of the road, standing in front of a low concrete building with a half-finished roof, my parents.
My mom sees the van first. She grabs my dad's arm and points, and even from here I can see her whole body change — shoulders lifting, hand coming up to her mouth.
Fourteen months.
Carlos barely stops before I'm out. The door handle sticks and I yank it and nearly fall into the road and I don't care because my mom is already moving, arms open, that sound she makes — half laugh, half cry — carrying across the dirt.
"Baby. Oh, my baby girl."
She hits me like a wall of warmth and lavender soap —the one luxury she allows herself— and I'm done. Whatever composure I was holding onto just — gone. I bury my face in her shoulder and cry. The stupid, embarrassing kind. The kind I swore I wouldn't do.
"Let me look at you." She pulls back, hands on my face, studying me like she's checking for damage. "You're sobeautiful. Have you been sleeping? You look tired."
"Mom, I just flew for eleven hours?—"
"You look tired. David, doesn't she look tired?"
My dad is right there. Quieter. He doesn't rush. He waits until Mom releases me and then he pulls me in — one arm around my shoulders, solid and sure, his chin resting on top of my head. He smells like sawdust and sunscreen.
"Hey, ladybug."
God.I haven't heard that in person in fourteen months and it almost breaks me again.
"Hey, Dad."
He holds me for a long time, and for a little while, everything feels like it's going to be okay.
When he lets go, Reid is already there — standing a few feet back, giving us space, but bouncing on his heels because Reid cannot stand still when he's nervous. He's wearing his bestI'm charming and harmlesssmile, the one that makes him look like a golden retriever who just learned a trick.
"Mom, Dad — this is Reid."
Reid steps forward and extends his hand to my dad. "Mr. Mitchell. It's really great to meet you, sir."
My dad takes his hand. Studies him. Reid's smile doesn't waver but I can see his knuckles go white — he's squeezing too hard, overcompensating. Dad holds the handshake for exactly one beat longer than comfortable.
"David," my dad says. "Call me David."
Reid's shoulders drop half an inch. "David. Yes, sir."
My mom doesn't bother with handshakes. She hugs him. Full contact, no warning. Reid freezes for a split second — he wasn't expecting it — then melts into it because that's what Reid does. He hugs back like he means it, and my mom pulls away beaming.
"Oh, he'swonderful," she says to me, like Reid isn't standing right there. "You were right. I can see it."
Reid grins. "I have references, if you need them."
Mom laughs. Dad almost smiles. And for exactly three seconds, everything is perfect.
Then Blake steps out of the van.
He's got his duffel over one shoulder and Reid's in the other handbecause of course he does. He sets them both down in the dirt, straightens up, and waits.
Say it. Just say it.
"And this is Blake." My throat tightens. "Our friend Blake."
