Tansy
The day before I leave for Idaho flies by. It seems like I blink and I’m standing outside of the academy, waving at Mink’s Lexus. The red Lexus as opposed to the blue one. October in California doesn’t have the same feeling that it does back home. The sun’s warmth lies on my shoulders until I duck under the shade of the portico. I’m wearing capris and a sleeveless silk top, but it’s still hot as hell and pushing ninety degrees. A bead of sweat rolls down the center of my back. I can’t wait to go home.
I wish I could wear sunglasses, but it’s frowned on at arrivals and departures. Parents like the emotional connection of being able to see our eyes. They want to be able to see our deference.
“I am going to melt.” Imogene flaps a hand at herself. “I’m from freaking Toronto. I’m not built for this heat.”
I do a little dance. “Gonna be much cooler in Idaho.”
“Shove it, woman. Stop bragging.”
My stomach does a flip, I do an instant replay of what I just said and wonder if I went too far, but then I decide that nope, I’m going further. “Boots and pumpkin spice and falling leaves! Actual autumn. It’s a thing.”
“Not in Southern California, it’s not.” She laughs and opens the door to the building for me. “I hate fall. It means winter’s coming.”
“I guess there’s a reason you moved here?”
She leans against the wall beside her classroom. Over her shoulder is a montage of her class’s photographs from their monthly trip to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. They’re working on an in-depth exploration of multisensory art. “There’s a load of reasons, but yeah, the weather is one of them. I hate the snow.”
“I kind of miss it.” I sigh. “Okay, I really miss it. I used to ski!”
Imogene’s perfectly groomed brows lift. “I don’t think I can picture you in a snow suit.”
“I loved it. And I didn’t mind the short days, and I loved being inside and having hot cocoa afterwards.”
She grins. “Now that, I can imagine.”
“I don’t know, maybe I’m romanticizing it.” I lean against the wall beside her, but I fail at cool points and have to pull my hair away from construction paper tesseracts. “It’s been forever since I’ve been home, and actually living in a place like that is so different.”
“I always hated the way everything was gray by January.”
“Yeah, the road salt is nasty.”
She shudders and wrinkles her nose. “It’d be fine if it were just the roads. But it’s all over the sidewalks and tracks in your house and corrodes your car. I am so glad to be done with that shit.”
“I miss it.” I sigh again and my shoulders drop. “And it sounds so far away.”
“Then go home.” She says it so casually, so easily. As if it wouldn’t be the biggest upheaval of my life.
No, wait, I think that was maybe leaving Jody at the altar. That was probably bigger. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Working here will give you a killer résumé. You’re single. You can go wherever you want.”
I blush. It’s like a firecracker that goes off in my cheeks and lights me on fire. I keep my gaze carefully trained on the poster on the other side of the hallway for our school concert and hope Imogene doesn’t have great peripheral vision. But naturally she does.
“You are single, aren’t you?” She stands straight and gawps at me. The goddess braids curved around the top of her head, combined with her height, make her a little intimidating. “Tell me you did not take Jody back.”
“No! God, no.” I jolt at the sudden terror that even the thought of having Jody back in my life brings. My palms sweat and my heart rate hits a speed that’s totally insane. “Never. I wouldn’t anyways, but it’s not like she’s even been trying either. We’re so done.”
“Thank you, my sweet Baby Jesus.” She presses her palms together as if it’s a real prayer. Maybe it is. “Who you got them thoughts about, then, huh?”
“I guess you won’t believe me if I say Angelina Jolie?”
“Her too, I bet, but I want the real-deal info.” She points at her classroom. “Come in for tea.”
I shake my head. “Can’t. I have to go home and pack. My flight’s at six tomorrow morning, and then I have a connection too. Nothing flies straight through to Idaho.”
Besides, I have no real idea what I’d say about Cai. We’re not a long-term, forever kind of thing, and yet she’s meeting me at home in three days. What do you call that? More than friends with benefits. Less than a relationship. The exact person I needed at the right moment in my life?
Words are hard.
Imogene is exasperated with me, but I think it’s in a gentle friendship kind of way. I hope. “At least tell me if I know her.”
“You don’t. I promise.”
She narrows her eyes and points at me as if she’s had a huge revelation. “The cat basket! With the toys.”
“Gyoza likes her,” I say on a laugh. “A lot.”
“She must be good people.”
“I think so.” It’s the perfect moment to say something about hoping my mom thinks so too, but I’ve kept it such a secret that Cai will be in Idaho that I don’t know how to start now. Maybe it’s just something Imogene doesn’t need to know. After all, I can barely stand to look sideways at the situation myself. Explaining to my mom was one of the weirdest conversations of my life, but I managed.
“You make sure she treats you right, sugar. If she doesn’t, she’s going to have to answer to me. I’m not keeping my mouth shut this time.”
Imogene holds her arms out for a hug, and I steel myself enough to step into it. She smells like cocoa for some reason. It’s awkward at first. I’m stiff. It’s hard to be touched still. But then she pats my back and lets go and my feel-good feelings come in the wake of freedom. I know I’m backward. Hugs aren’t supposed to only be pleasant afterward, but in the middle I’m waiting for something bad to happen. It’s like I can only process little pieces at a time.
I don’t like to look inward at myself. It’s broken in there, filled with shards of glass that hurt to turn over. I’ll start bleeding all over the painted wood floors. The cheery blue and gold diamonds wouldn’t do very well with pools of crimson. Not to mention it’d be hard to explain to the janitorial staff.
I am nothing if not considerate.
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to warn her.” I make myself smile at my friend even though it’s still hard to believe that I’ve had friends all along.
Now it’s time to go remind myself that I’ve always had my family too.
“Oh my god, Mom. No! I’m going to freaking choke you!”
She is absolutely, gleefully unrepentant. An outright cackle comes out of her. “Welcome home, baby!”
Our driveway is filled with people. Absolutely packed. Mom has to park her Jeep on the curb. There are balloons and ribbons and my high school girlfriend. Beth holds a poster board sign reading, Welcome Home! over her head and waves it back and forth. Dad is at the front of the crowd, standing with his hands fisted on his hips and his feet spread in the I belong in my world pose that he’s always had. Nanna waves manically. She’s wearing a bright-blue track suit.
I’m laughing and dying at the same time. “This is insane.”
“Everyone was so happy when I told them you were coming back.”
“It’s not like I’ve been to war or something!” I unbuckle, but I can’t look away from the craziness in front of me either.
“You’ve been in California. For years. It’s practically the same thing.” Mom sniffs the way she always does when she talks about California. It’s a reflex, the same exact thing that Grandpa Harold did before he died. But then she pushes a bit of my hair back over my shoulder and pets my head. “We’ve missed you.”
I know she’s saying she in particular missed me. When she picked me up at the Idaho Falls airport, I was struck by how much older she looked than I remembered. There are lines at the corners of her eyes and her skin is pale but just a little bit more dull than she should be. I get my curls from her, but hers are now shot through with a pretty solid amount of gray.
“I’ve missed you too, Mom.”
Mom’s hug is a safe one even if it’s awkward over the center console and stick shift. I have no doubts, no bit of freezing. It’s only the burning tears that I have to hold back with a few blinks and a sniffle.
Then I’m out of the car, and Dad is the first one to grab me. He smells like motor oil and his baseball cap is shoved back on his head enough that I can see his hair has receded another few inches. “Muffin!”
“Daddy.” I burrow my face against his chest. He’s nearly a foot taller than me.
“Your mom made your favorite. Tater tot casserole.” He pats my back. “You’re lucky. She doesn’t make it for me anymore. Says my blood pressure can’t take it.”
This is my dad. The man who can squeeze me so hard that my ribs hurt a little, but who can only talk about the food that Mom’s prepared. I guess he’s who I get my difficulties expressing myself from. But not this time. “I’m glad to be home, Daddy.”
“Yeah. I know, muffin. I know.”
And then he lets me go. I’m pulled into a vortex of family and friends. It’s the strangest feeling to know every one of their names. I hadn’t realized how isolated California can be. I’ve been in crowded yoga classes and not even known the instructor’s name. But this is one big line of people who wiped my butt and aren’t afraid to remind me, or who copied off my test in World History or who I played with in creeks and climbed trees.
At one point I turn around and find Beth, who’s grinning at me like a mad hatter. Her hair is cropped super short, and she’s wearing a Cabela’s T-shirt under an open flannel. She smacks me on the back hard enough that I stumble. “Holy shit, woman! You have no idea how good it is to not be the token lesbian anymore.”
“I’m only here for a week,” I say and then laugh.
“I’ll take what I can get.” She gives her sign a wiggle. “You gotta come by the shop.”
“Shop?”
“I bought old man Nowacki’s garage. I’m the only game in town if your radiator goes out.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” I grin at her. “We should get coffee.”
Her laugh is grand and wide open. “I’m in. We’ll go to your grandma’s place.”
“We can get that booth in the back corner and pretend no one knows what we’re talking about.”
She leans in and drops her voice as if we’re going to share a secret. “Rebecca’s ass is still as hot as it’s always been. Just sayin’.”
“I heard that!” exclaims a deep voice. “And I completely agree.”
My brother is even taller than our dad. I have to crane my neck to look at him. “Justin! Get down here and hug me.”
And the smart-ass goes to his knees there in the driveway. He throws his arms wide. “There. Is that better?”
“You’re still my younger brother, and I still reserve the right to beat you up.” Except it pretty much brings his head to my shoulder level, so I hug him. This thing is getting easier each time. “I’ll have to jump you when you’re not expecting it.”
Mom claps and then waves her hands over her head. “Let’s take this party inside. Food’s in the kitchen, drinks are in the coolers on the back porch. Off we go!”
Justin hops back up to his feet. He and Beth throw their arms around my shoulders and herd me toward the house. Dad grabs my suitcase, but Frank, his best friend of thirty years and a guy who’s practically an uncle to me, grabs my tote bag. It’s pretty cute to see burly, bearded Frank with a bright-pink shopping tote hooked over one shoulder, but then I let Justin and Beth lead me away into my childhood home.
This feels like more than a visit. The warmth in my chest and my heart says I’m where I’m supposed to be. These are the people who know me and who would have kept me safe from the beginning. Even the crisp air carries a scent of greenery and the smallest hint of wood smoke. Orange leaves crackle underfoot.
I don’t regret leaving, but I don’t know if I want to go away again.
Except Idaho doesn’t have Cai.