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When I pull into the driveway of their home, my chest tightens and I have to do a few seconds of breathing exercises to prevent the impending panic attack.
In. Out. Slow. Focus on the sound of the engine, the scent of fresh cut grass drifting through the cracked window, the sun warming my arm. In. Out. Slow.
I twist my neck back and forth when I feel the anxiety subside. These are my parents, not a shark tank, but tell that to my brain in fight or flight mode.
I walk up to the door, slowly, talking myself down and ringing the bell when I finally reach the threshold. My mom opens the door, looking ready to yell at whoever dares disturb their afternoon, but her expression morphs to surprise.
“Oh my pearls, Eli.” She opens the screen, smiling. “Eli.” Pulling me into her arms, she squeezes me.
I inhale her scent—always the same, like roses soaked in cream. She’s worn the same perfume since before I was born, and it reminds me of everything good about home.
Pulling me back a bit, she searches my face with tears in her eyes. “What a surprise.”
“Hi, Mom.”
She loops her arm through mine, dragging me to the family room. My dad is sitting at a round table working on a jigsaw puzzle.
“Harris, look.”
My dad looks up, then pulls his head back. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. Eli.” He stands, walking over and giving me a brutish hug, clapping me on the back. “What are you doing here? Your job never brings you to Neubrook.”
“Yeah, about that. I, um, I quit my job.”
“Oh dear,” my mom says. “I’ll get us some lemonade.”
Her solution to every situation. Lemonade and cookies. Dad leads me to the couch, gripping my shoulder.
“Tell us what happened.”
“Wait for me,” my mom hollers from the kitchen.
Dad rolls his eyes, but sits back until Mom returns carrying a tray with glasses and a plate of cookies. She’s a regular Martha Stewart, I tell ya.
I take a cookie and bite into it, buying myself another few seconds before I have to drop the news, but they watch me closely.
“I burned out.”
“What does that mean?” Dad asks.
“Sales is a very stressful industry. It’s always about what you’ve done lately, so you have to keep finding ways to top yourself while keeping everyone at bay. After years of being at the top of my game, it got to be too much. I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“So you quit?” Mom asks. “Maybe you just needed a new company, or a new industry.”
“Maybe, but I needed to take a step back. Focus on my priorities again.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Dad asks.
“Yeah. I didn’t know where else to go.”
My parents exchange looks. “Well, we um, turned your bedroom into a craft room,” my mom says. “I suppose we might be able to clear out—”
I lift my hand to stop her. “It’s okay. I have a place to stay. You remember Michel Toussaint, right?”
They exchange looks again. “Of course we do,” my dad answers. “He’s changed a lot since you were kids.”
“Most people do.”
“He’s been buying up the town,” Dad continues. “Some people around here don’t trust him. They think he’s gonna sell it all to some corporation in New Onyx once he’s done having his fun with us.”
