It's such a beautiful day but I'm far too nervous to appreciate it. No, my mind is on other things. I drop my phone back into my pocket and pull out my keys. My stomach drops for a second but then I spot it, tucked under my dorm room key and the car key — my old house key. Opening the door to my childhood home still feels exactly the same and I draw in a deep breath. Someone is cooking vegetables but just underneath that is the welcoming scent of safety and love. I take off my shoes and shut the door a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. "Brian?" Mom calls out my dad's name from the kitchen. The kitchen is the central hub of the downstairs, connected right to the entrance hallway. As I enter, the aroma of chicken adds to the mix. My mouth waters but I'm not hungry. Not for food, anyway. There she is, beautiful as ever. April, my mom. Thirty-eight — no, thirty-nine as of today, and, by my estimate at least, in the prime of her life. She has a warm,...
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