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MICAH
Why didI agree to this? Why did I let Shelly talk me into coming here?
Naturally, Shelly is running late. Which is why I am still in my truck, with the engine and lights off, waiting for her arrival. Because I refuse to walk into the lioness’s den without her. Okay, I may be exaggerating a bit. But after what Shelly said the other day, I can’t muster the energy to enter my childhood home without her as a buffer.
So, while I wait, I stare at the only home my parents have owned. Picture perfect. I love everything about this house. All that it stands for and the love that resides in each square foot of the property. It irks me I haven’t quite reached this comfortable stage as a homeowner yet. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Mom and Dad have worked their asses off for what they own. Have spent countless hours on every little detail, inside and out, to make their home shine. I remind myself of this each time I upgrade a room in the house or update the backyard and patio. All good things come with time. And patience.
Including love.
I stare at the two-story, natural brick home. The pristine white trim, decorative shutters and modern double front doors with large stainless fittings. Grass cut three inches tall. Hedges manicured and colorful flowers blooming along the front and down the walkway. Twin maple trees taller than the house rooted on either side of the long drive leading to the three-car garage. The house surrounded by an acre of land, an iron-and-brick fence and a gate.
The house wasn’t always this gorgeous. All the hours and labor my parents have put in are an inspiration. It energizes me to take on the next project in my own home. Baby steps eventually lead to full strides.
Shelly pulls up and I breathe easier. We exit our vehicles and converge to walk to the house as a unit. We both love our parents, had a happy and healthy upbringing, but have zero excitement about tonight’s dinner.
“You ready for this?” she asks.
“Not in the slightest. You?”
“No. Last thing I need is a reminder of my singledom. Or my lack of offspring.”
Same. Although, if I play my hand right, I plan to not be single much longer. No comment on the offspring. But Mom and Dad won’t be privy to either bit of news. Not yet. No need to have them barrage me with questions I can’t answer. Nor do I want them to nag or ask to meet Peyton. Our relationship hasn’t crossed that bridge yet.
Shelly opens the front door and leads the way. We toe off our shoes and set them on the rack past the foyer. Less than ten feet inside, the scent of pork, citrus, garlic and herbs wafts in the air. Soft jazz notes echo throughout the house. Mom says something about opening wine and I assume she talks to Dad.
We round the corner and spot our parents canoodling at the stove with their backs to us. Before we disturb the moment, I take it all in. How after thirty-five years of marriage—and seven years unmarried—they still hang on each other and kiss like teenagers. Dad has his arms locked around Mom’s waist, her back to his front, as he whispers in her ear and she swats the air near him as she giggles. My heart swells seeing them so in love. The simple touches and secret conversations give me hope I will one day have a similar happiness.
“Hope we’re not interrupting,” Shelly pipes up as Dad kisses Mom’s cheek.
They spin around, smile wide, and stop what they are doing to come hug us.
“How’s my baby?” Mom asks as she wraps her arms around my neck. I circle my arms around her waist, lift her off the ground, and squeeze her.
“Good, Mom. Miss you.”
When I set her down, she takes a step back and frames my face with her hands, eyes soft as she regards me. The lines on my forehead, the arch of my brow, the light in my eyes, the scruff on my jaw. “Miss you, too. Both of you.” She peers over at Shelly, then swaps places with Dad.
“How’s work been?” Dad asks as he hauls me to his chest and knocks the wind from my lungs.
“Good,” I say once he releases me. “The owners have made some changes and it’s been great for business.”
“Like what?” Dad guides us farther into the kitchen, where he and Mom resume cooking.
I prattle off the new changes—leaving out all things Peyton-related. When I finish, Shelly looks at me like she did the one time I stole her clothes and towel from the bathroom forever ago.
“What?” I ask, scared of her answer.
“Why am I just learning about Karaoke Night?” Her brows shoot up and eyes widen.
Damn it.How the hell did I forget that my sister, Cora, and Jonas are karaoke buffs? Probably because I haven’t hung out during the week with them in a while. After learning this new information, though, I bet I will see them Wednesday nights. Often.
I love my sister—and my friends—but seeing her at work feels a bit much. Maybe I am overanalyzing, but I like having time and a place that is just mine. Kind of.
“Uh…” Dad stands far enough behind Shelly she doesn’t notice his yikes face. “Because I don’t talk about work with you,” I answer in staccato.
She rolls her eyes, then slaps a hand over her sternum. “Wound me, why don’t you. If karaoke doesn’t make you think of me, I feel like we need to bond more.”
Oh, Jesus.
“Throwing it on a little thick there, Shell.”
“What do you expect? My feelings are crushed.” She play weeps and Dad bites his fist to resist laughing.
“Oh, please.” I laugh and Dad joins in. “Work on your weeping skills, little sis.”
“Alright, you two,” Mom intercepts with hands on her hips. “Time to plate up and eat.”
We line up beside the counter near the stove, grab a plate, and pile on the food. Mojo pork tenderloin, oven-roasted red potatoes, steamed green beans and homemade rolls. Needless to say, I put too much on my plate.
Mom and Dad lead busy work lives, but always make time for what matters. Family. Mom still works forty hours a week as a corporate marketing manager. She has the ability to retire in a few years without worrying, but she won’t. That’s what happens when you love what you do. Dad owns an insurance company that handles mostly vehicles, vessels and property. For a short time, he dipped his toes in the health and life side, but it became too taxing. Dad hit retirement age earlier this year, but said he plans to run the business a few more years before selling.
Both my parents have done so much in their career lives. They started at the bottom, put in their time, learned more about what they love, and worked hard for their career dreams. As a child, Dad often said, “Micah, you should never expect your dreams to be handed over. You have to put in the effort. Bust your butt until you get what you want. If you don’t earn it, you won’t respect it.”
And I guess that applies to anything you want in life. Not just your career.
