The plane landed in Burlington, and soon Echo and I were making our way across the tiled airport floor, out the doors to the curbside passenger pickup. I had my trusty khaki duffel with me, a utilitarian military style I’d picked up at an Army-Navy store near the naval base in San Diego. I hadn’t checked a bag, since I wasn’t staying long. After the reunion, I’d be heading straight back to sun and sand.
I’d barely stepped into the Vermont sunshine when I spotted Mom, her practical light gray SUV idling under the dark green awning. Her hair was the same sandy brown as mine, but now heavily streaked in silver. Her grin split her face when she saw me. She opened the passenger door and Echo hopped in the front seat. Mom and I both shared a bemused grin at his antics.
“Back, Echo,” I instructed, and he bounded over the console into the back seat.
Goofy dog.
No sooner did I enter the car than Mom was chattering about how happy she was to have me home.
“Oh honey, you’re so tan! Have you been using the SPF?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, Mom. I use the kind you sent me, the waterproof SPF 100.”
“Good. That's good. Skincare is so important, you know. Oh honey, I’m so glad you’re home. We’ll have all your cousins over for dinner tonight. I’m making a pot roast!”
My stomach rumbled appreciatively.
I watched the trees pass by as we made our way to our hometown of Birch Hollow. It struck me how different the landscape was from my now-familiar San Diego. A wave of nostalgia hit me unexpectedly as I took in the deep summer green whipping past the window. Before I knew it, we were pulling into the long driveway that wrapped alongside my ranch-style home, stopping the car in the back next to the old basketball hoop and the shed.
Stepping back into my childhood home was like entering a time warp. I couldn’t find a single thing that had changed since this house had been rebuilt, during the summer I turned thirteen. Dad’s comfy plaid Laz-E-Boy faced the same TV, and collage after collage of framed family photos took up every space of wood paneling. The decor was dated, but it was warm and homey. Mom’s rooster-theme kitchen collection, which she’d replaced and added to over the years, still sat proudly in the kitchen.
Still, the house never felt the same without my basement retreat.
“How are you, son?” my dad’s deep baritone rang out from his chair.
“Good, Dad. Doing good.”
I clapped his shoulder with my palm. Dad wasn’t much of a hugger. As I settled onto the worn leather sofa, Echo made himself at home on the dog bed.
“Mom,” I called towards the kitchen, “Need any help in there?”
“Oh no, honey—you know this dinner makes itself!”
I smiled. I was definitely back home.
The night passedin a flurry of good food and good conversations. My cousins gathered around the old dining room table, many with spouses and kids along. I ran my hand absentmindedly through the familiar nicks and grooves of the well-worn honey-oak table as we chatted about life, jobs, and the latest on various New England sports teams. My whole body felt warm as I consumed our traditional pot roast, the tender and flavorful meat colliding with the hearty potatoes and roasted carrots.
Everything about this meal said home, down to the good-natured ribbing my older cousins tossed my way.
“So, Cade,” my cousin Jeff asked, “How’s the love life? Find your dream girl yet?”
My cheeks suddenly turned a furious shade of red. I’d always been a bit uncomfortable discussing any kind of relationship with my family.
“Oh, posh.” My mom shook him off. “Cade is far too busy in California saving lives to worry about settling down right now. Right, dear?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I agreed. “Not on the horizon.” No need to get her hopes up there.
Jeff squeezed his wife Gen’s hand, and they shared a knowing smile. “Well,” he conceded, “when you know, you know.”
Stretched across my old twin bed that night, Jeff’s words rolled around in my head. The truth was, I’d already met my dream girl. I just wasn’t her dream guy.
After high school,I hadn’t kept in touch with many friends from back home, preferring a clean break from all the memories. All I’d wanted that summer before I turned 18 was to pack my bags and get the hell out of dodge, to start fresh and reinvent myself in a new city. After my mortifying confession on graduation night, my feet itched to move as far from the scene as possible.
About a year prior to the reunion, though, my old neighbor Bryan had added me on Facebook. Bryan had lived on the end of our cul-de-sac, and he’d always been the most decent of guys. His demeanor was quiet and unsure, but he was a nice guy to the core. He’d been closest with Sammy in elementary and middle school, but I thought they might’ve lost touch when Sammy moved to River Bend for high school.
I sent Bryan a message when I knew I’d be returning for the reunion and we exchanged phone numbers. The reunion dinner was Saturday evening, so we made plans to get together that morning for a swim at the gorge. It would be good to catch up.
Bryan picked me up Saturday morning in his dark orange Jeep Wrangler. The lanky, awkward guy had really grown into himself, and he seemed to carry himself with a newfound confidence that had been severely lacking in his adolescence. He was taller than me, with glasses and floppy hair a few shades darker than mine.
