Page 20

That same tension coils low in my stomach—my body's old reflex, bracing for impact. Will I drop my bag and immediately be drafted onto either side of my sibling's debate? Will Mom fire questions at me, not so much waiting for answers but just hoping one sticks?

Or—

Will I sort of… disappear?

Not in a tragic way—not even an upsetting one. Just in the familiar, youngest child flying under the radar sense. The kind where Dad's attention is already claimed, and Mom's energy is spent on a sibling standing at the edge of something new. Something more life changing than sixth period science.

Or the new boy from the park.

I shake myself free of it, stepping back into my twenty-four-year old self, and hang my purse—not my track bag—on the hook by the door.

"Nora?" my mother calls the second she hears my coat unzip. "Is that you?"

I blow out a slow breath before responding, then push my shoulders back and take my first step toward the kitchen. "Yeah, Mom. It's me."

She squeals, and there's a clang on the counter—probably whatever spoon or spatula she's using to whip up today's recipe. "Patrick! Kids! Nora's home!"

Home.

The word hits me right in the chest.

I stop mid-stride to regain my balance, but I barely get the chance before my brothers and sister bound down the hall, throwing their arms around me and ruffling my hair.

"Guys," I giggle, ten-years-old again, half-fending them off, half-soaking them in. "Guys, okay. Relax."

"We can't!" Max yells, mere inches from my ear, the crook of his elbow wrapped loosely around my neck.

"We just missed you so much," Bridget sings in a voice meant for infants while squeezing my cheeks not nearly as gently.

"Yeah, sis," Sam chimes in, bear-hugging all three of us at the same time. "You've been gone so long, we might never let you go."

I roll my eyes, but my body betrays me, sinking further into them—surrendering while still embracing the chaos. It's times like this that I forget just how nice it is to be with my people. How easy it is to get lost in the sense of belonging my younger-self would never understand leaving.

And for the moment, I almost forget why I did.

"Okay, well… I'm back now," I say, squirming free. "Save some love for the next six weeks."

There's a series of groans and fines as they slowly peel their bodies off of mine.

"What's Mom making?" I ask. "I'm starving."

"I got soda bread on the counter and stew in the oven," Mom says, rounding the corner. She brushes her hands on a dishtowel before throwing it over her shoulder as my siblings disperse toward the kitchen.

"Nora."

Mom says my name as if she's been carrying it around like a weight and is finally setting it down.

"Hey, Mom," I say.

The words barely make it out before she pulls me into a hug.

I squeeze her back, breathing in the combination of oatmeal and dish soap that somehow go together. Just like they always have.

She slowly releases me, but only enough to keep her hands on my shoulders, holding me at a distance. "What took you so long?" she asks with mock devastation.

"Mom, I've been in the area for like twenty-four hours."

And still found time to run into him.