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After driving onward toward The Willows for another twenty minutes, I pull into the driveway of my parents’ mansion, the home they built in the woodsy hills between San Jose and Santa Cruz just before my 13thbirthday. It’s positioned among a couple of vineyards and a Buddhist getaway, so a bit away from the pretentious neighborhoods where most of my high-school peers lived. Still, the place is a monstrosity, making Thoroughgood Ranch house, with five guest bedrooms, a huge foyer, office area, and dining room for twenty people, seem small.
I cut the engine, silencing Alicia Keys’s “Girl on Fire,” and stare at the double front doors for a long minute.
Do it, Jack.
As I open the door, my mother steps outside and skips down the steps with her arms wide open. She’s shorter than me by about six inches, and she wears her dark hair pulled back in a knot at the base of her neck. Looking into her face is almost like viewing myself in a mirror. She still looks young for her age, thanks in part to her Latina heritage. But her beauty routine helps too. The perks of being in the medical community in one of the richest areas of California and having a best friend who’s a dermatologist, I suppose. People have often said we could be sisters. Along with her genes, Mom also imparted her secrets to me, so I’m hopeful I’ll still have her youthful look in another twenty-five years.
“Nena,” my mom says as she squeezes me tightly.
“Hi, Mom.” I hug her in return.
“It’s been too long,mija,” she says.
As she drags me up the steps and inside, I have the urge to apologize, but hold it in. It seems too cliché to say I’m sorry.
The smell in the house, as usual, draws us toward the kitchen. To answer my mother as we walk, I offer, “I’ll try to get back more often once this project wraps up at work.” I’m not sure it’s the truth, but hopefully it’ll keep the lectures away. As a doctor, she knows the story of being busy with work. For as long as I can recall, she went into work at strangest hours, leaving me with—
“Nana,” I say as I spot my grandma at the counter cutting peppers.
Mom leaves my side as I scurry around the counter to give Nana a big hug and then I peek in the pot she has boiling.
“Tamales?” I ask.
Nana smiles broadly and says in Spanish, “When Sylvia told me you were coming home, I made sure we had the ingredients.” She understands English, but refuses to speak it, kind of like me with Spanish. I only speak it when absolutely necessary, even though I grew up speaking both. And being bilingual has also opened a number of doors for me.
I concede with greeting my grandmother though. “Te Quiero, Nana. Gracias.” I drop a kiss on her cheek.
“Jackie, welcome home.” Dad enters the kitchen with his arm around my mother.
I cringe and object, “Dad, please.” Then, I notice how cute my parents are together and my heart melts. Married for nearly thirty years and still touching, holding each other, and showing affection when they move. As if they revolve around one another.
Dad raises one hand in surrender, not letting go of Mom. “I know. It’s Jack or Jacqueline,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Come here, then, and give me a hug,Jacqueline.I refuse to call my only little girl by a boy’s name.”
“What about Jackie Chan?” I tease as I circle around the island and give him the requested embrace.
It feels good to be here with them. Family. Strangely enough, it reminds me of another home more than a thousand miles away. Even stranger, it makes me wonder how the home that’s currently under construction will turn out.
Nana chases us out of the kitchen with a shooing motion. “The first batch will be ready in an hour. Go. Relax.” .
Mom and Dad head for the living room, and I follow. They sit on the loveseat, and I take the perpendicular armchair. There’s lemonade in a pitcher on the table with four glasses. Mom pours three. Dad takes one. She hands one to me and reaches for the third. “What brings you down?”
I roll my lips between my teeth and stare at the mint leaf garnishing the drink.
“What your mother means,” Dad begins, “is we’re delighted to see you, but it was quite a surprise when you called yesterday to say you were coming.”
Mom smiles and lays a hand on Dad’s knee. “Sorry, I forget my bedside manner with family.”
My eyes follow her movement with some strange feeling pulling in my chest. “It’s okay,” I say. “I do have something I want to talk about.” Then, I quickly bury my face in the glass.
My parents exchange a look, and my dad says, “We’re always here for whatever you need, Jacqueline. You know that, right?”
The sweet-sour drink cools my throat, and I let out a sigh. “I do.”
Something lights in my mother’s eyes. “Is this ...” Her eyes roam between me and Dad. “Is this about a ...”
“Man?” I offer, and she nods. I suck in another deep breath. “Yeah. It is.”
“Well, where is he? Why didn’t you bring him?” she asks, and I can feel her excitement growing.
