The Difference Between Getting and Needing

f i f t y

let's take these moments day by day,
and what's in store for us,
who can s a y . . .

〰️〰️〰️

ONE YEAR LATER

"Welcome home! Oh my God, you're so tan!"

Cyclone Sutton touched down at the front door of my parents' house. Her shrill voice greeted me first, her arms winding around me as she yanked me into her chest, holding me with an iron grip that'd go toe to toe with a pro wrestler.

I grunted against her shoulder, "Sutton, it's fucking hot out here. Can we do this inside?"

She clucked her tongue before releasing me while making sure I saw the dramatic roll of her eyes. "I missed you, too," she mumbled.

"Inside. Please. I need AC," I said flatly.

Sutton wrapped Gus in a quick one-armed hug, who was standing patiently beside me for the whole encounter, then she finally let us in and shut the door behind us. A long sigh escaped me at the cold temperature change, thanks to my dad's lifetime rule of the thermostat needing to be just under 70 degrees during the summer months. It was one battle my mother never won.

"Shouldn't you be acclimated to the heat by now? You were just in Hawaii for a week," Sutton bluntly pointed out. As if she suddenly noticed we brought Ziggy with us, she glanced down at our dog wagging his tail at her, and gave him a welcoming pat on his head.

"Yeah, but it's still nothing like an east coast summer. This humidity is unreal," I said, whisking my hair off the back of my neck. "I broke a sweat just walking from the car to the house."

"You're lucky I told Mom not to have this shindig outside. She wanted to at first, but I said you'd hate that," she told me, a subtle hint to praise her. She crossed her arms and watched me as I unhooked Ziggy's leash, leaving him to run free throughout the house.

"Well thank you, Sutton. That was so kind of you." I sent her a mocking smile. When I turned to drape Ziggy's leash and my purse on the coat rack, it vanished from my face.

Before she darted into the dining room, she called over her shoulder, "Plus, sweat doesn't go with my outfit."

I could have had a number of responses to that one, but I held my tongue. Literally. It was pressed against my clenched teeth when I looked up at Gus. He offered me a chuckle of amusement, then turned me around and guided me by the waist to the kitchen where I assumed everyone else was.

My birthday was last Tuesday, but since Gus and I were on our yearly traditional trip to Hawaii, obviously I couldn't celebrate it with my friends or family. Our flight landed in the middle of the night on Friday, we slept for all of Saturday until we got drinks later at Cruiser's with Collin, Fallon, and the rest of my friends. I nursed my jet lag with one too many Old Fashioned's, ordered four rounds of pickleback shots, and stayed out way too late for me to be functioning this well with my family for the day.

Even Gus, the natural early riser that he was, struggled to get out of bed this morning. He pulled me back under the covers so many times, I had to elbow him in the chest to escape. Not that I wouldn't have wanted to spend a whole lazy Sunday with him, but I knew how my mom was and I didn't have it in me to skip the birthday celebration she planned for me.

I brewed a big pot of coffee, took something for my impending headache, and we were on the road by nine o'clock. I had to admit, I was pretty proud of myself.

"There you are!" My mom shrieked from where she stood on the other side of the island. She nudged Sutton aside, practically tripping over Ziggy who sat right at their feet hoping a scrap of whatever appetizer they were whipping up would fall into his mouth. "Happy birthday!"