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On one such weekend, I was sitting in my home office, working on my computer, when I got a call from Dad. I only hesitated a little before answering it. If this was before, I might have even thought of ignoring the call, but those days were over.
I couldn’t say Dad and I were closer than before, but at least, we didn’t go through moments of pretending the other didn’t exist.
“Hello, Dad?”
“Jake,” he said, voice deep and calm. “Do you have any plans this weekend?”
I stared at my computer screen. I had my browser opened and was looking through a few pages. I was only in the research stage so far, so there wasn’t any hurry.
“I’m free, Dad. Did you need something?”
“Why don’t you come home for the weekend, then? Your mother misses you.”
But you don’t, right?
I smiled wryly. If she missed me, Mom would have called me herself, and—
“Sure. Give me an hour, and I’ll be right over.”
“Good. You’ll make it in time for lunch, then. Let us know if you’ll be delayed; your mom will want to hold lunch for you.”
We said our goodbyes and cut the phone call. I turned my computer off and got up.
Even though my relationship with my parents had gotten closer recently, I didn’t move in back home. Mom had wanted me to in the first few months after we buried my brother, but I insisted I wasn’t a child. So I compromised and got my place a little closer to home. The drive would be about half an hour without traffic, but I had to shower and get changed.
Twenty minutes later, I was in my car driving toward my family home. Even though both my parents were pretty high profile, we had what most people would call a modest house with two floors just fit for a family of four. In reality, the house and compound were way bigger than most houses of only two floors; it was just that a lot of Dad’s friends and partners tied to the business all had mansions.
There was a little free space that Mom always said was for a girl if she ever had any, but after me, they didn’t have any other kids, so there was some free space in the house. She’d told me more than once that the reason they didn’t have a bigger house, even though they could have bought one once Dad’s company got off the ground, was because she wanted the family to be closer.
I didn’t care about that when I was younger. I just cared that, since the house only had two floors and I was on the second floor, sneaking out and back in through my window was doable.
It wasn’t long before I stopped outside the gates. They opened automatically for me, and I drove inside. I parked on the drive, a few feet away from the door, and got out of the car. The door was unlocked, and I walked right in. It was the home I grew up in so I was very familiar with it. I followed the amazing smell of food to the kitchen to find Mom in the middle of cooking.
“Hey, Mom. I’m home.”
She turned at my voice, surprised, but then she smiled widely at me. She had one hand holding a wooden spoon as she stirred, and raised the other arm to me. I went over to give her a quick, one-armed hug.
“You’re here faster than I thought. Or I’m slower. Your dad is upstairs in his office, but you can stay here and help your dear old mom set the table, right?”
Her smile turned to tease, and I chuckled as I moved to do as she said. We didn’t have a servant in the house; Mom refused the notion, so growing up, we shared the chores. Even Dad used to pitch in when we were younger, but then he got busy.
It was ten minutes before we served everything on the table, and I found myself smiling. Dad naturally drifted down because of the scent of food without needing to be called. Mom always was the best cook, and my stomach rumbled. Since I lived alone, I either cooked for myself, went out, or ordered take-out. My own cooking didn’t stand up to Mom’s, and if there was one thing I ever missed about home after I left, it was her cooking.
“Dad,” I said, nodding to him as he walked over to the table.
He made a sound of acknowledgement and nodded back, but didn’t say anything.
The three of us sat down. Without a word, we all avoided the seat that used to belong to my brother. The dining table had always had four seats. In the times when the extended family visited for the holidays, we took out meals in the living room, not at the small dining table in the kitchen.
None of us said it, but I knew that wound was still fairly fresh for all of us. Mom had us say grace before we began eating.
“So, Dad,” I started. “Did you need to talk to me about something?”
He hesitated a little, and I caught it. Mom sent a mock scowl at me.
“Can't your parents just miss you and want to see you home from time to time?”
I smiled. “I visit often enough. I’m here every other weekend for your wonderful cooking. If Dad called me home, it has to be something important, right?”
