Goodbye Yellow Brick Road ✔︎

32 | Familiar

|photo by Fred Heap from Unsplash|

There's no detail in the scenic backdrop of my homecoming, only dark and shadows. But I know the fields are green with orderly rows of winter rye, and the towering hardwoods that border the lake are grey and bare. Dad stops the car in front of the Nash's house, where Glenn is waiting on the front porch. "Thanks for dinner," I say, resting a hand on each of my parent's shoulders. "It's good to be home."

The last part comes out shaky. Because maybe it feels a little bit like a lie?

Monty bolts as soon as I open the door and runs off barking at the night. I climb out, keeping my eyes fixed on the white lights Mom has wrapped so carefully around the cylindrical evergreen trees that flank our front door. And I breathe in the cool air. The smoke from the Nash's wood-burning stove dominates the tilled earth and dry grass smell I was expecting.

Glenn lifts himself out of the rocking chair as I cross the gravel driveway. The silence between us is familiar, but not comfortable. I study his face and decide he's waiting for me to make the first move. So I start with a hug. His strong arms are covered in flannel and a woodsy smell that invokes a thousand memories. I give in to the impulse to turn my head and warm my nose on his neck. He moves his hands under my coat, over my hips and tucks his fingers in the waistband of my jeans.

And it's all so familiar.

I tilt my head back and he meets my lips with his. We've never needed desperate clutching and heavy breathing—not that we can't work up to that. We can. We have. But what I feel for Glenn is a different kind of wanting. It's waking up on Christmas morning and tearing through wrapping paper, grabbing the gift I love most and running out the front door because I know he'll meet me halfway carrying something he can't wait to show me.

"I've missed you so much," he says against my lips and I know he has, I can feel it. I've missed him, too, but I can't just pick up where we left off back in August. I don't know if I can forgive Glenn for going out with Megan's sister.

"I want to see your parents," I say, because if I start thinking about Jenny, I won't be able to face them, and I need to see John Nash. I need a healthier, happier image to replace the pale, feeble one from August when I came to say goodbye.

"Yeah," Glenn says, releasing me. "They're eager to see you, too."

* * *

Later we sit, crossed-legged at the edge of the dock. Monty is stretched out between us: his back against Glenn's thigh, his paws pressed into mine. It's clear and cold and the sky is infinite and the stars are bright. I love that I could sit in this spot for hours and not hear a single manmade noise.

"John looks good," I say and Glenn nods. Mr. Nash greeted me with a hug, with the strong arms I remember, but it's not over. He'll start another round of chemo in a few days.

"I should have called you," Glenn says.

It's amazing how five little words can send you spiraling back through time.

"Thea, I'm sorry."

"For what, Glenn? For hooking up with Jenny or for not calling to tell me you were sorry you hooked up with her? Or maybe you're not sorry. Maybe you're still with her. Megan says Jenny's been smiling a lot since then and going out dressed in date clothes."

"I didn't hook up with her. It was just..." He looks at his lap and mumbles, "We're not together. I don't know why she's smiling. I haven't seen her since that night. And I'm—"

"Did you have sex with her?"

"No. Did you have sex with Chase Tinsley?"

He doesn't say it the way I did, like an attorney for the prosecution. His tone is sufficiently meek but I still want to punch him.