In 18 years, Lyra Queen, has yet to:
- Kiss a boy;
- Meet her mother;
- Go through a near-death experience.
In a week, she is going to do all three.
cover by @sereneur
The worst part about coming home to see my father was that he never seemed to be around. Not that it bothered me. I liked being alone. But if he called me at 5 am asking me to come home during vacation, you'd expect him to stay home.
While I was a child, being the son of a nurse was the equivalent to being inside of a medical drama. Every day he had an illness to tell me about. His experience with families in the hospital made him the perfect person for family advice. That was the only reason he had friends; for my father is just about the coldest man I ever met. I had never spent a full week with him, even when he had days off.
As an adult, it doesn't bother me anymore. But after spending so much time alone in this house, going to university a few kilometers away was the most logical decision.
Opening the door to my home for more than 20 years seemed to be the hardest thing I'd ever done.
Although with lights dimmed, the house looked the same. The living room space is diminished by medical books that spilled over every flat surface, all over the tv stand, some even on the island that separated the kitchen and the living room. The books stacked on books filled a complete wall in the living room, and my mind went to a time when I found that encouraging. My pictures on the wall were covered in dust, however, there wasn't so much as a fold in any book. The corners of my lips raised at the irony. You'd expect someone to take care of something they love. The flowers offered to him by aunt Carina withered away on most corners, in a state she would describe only as tragico.
After driving for 20 hours, surprisingly nonstop, the first thing I did was sleep. I didn't even make it to bed. My father wasn't home and it didn't seem like he would, for a long time.
My upper body stood upright at the sound of a door slamming. In a matter of mere seconds, my aunt Carina held my whole body in an extreme hug. Her smell filled my nostrils and reminded me of the ground after rain; a life working with plants will do that to you.
I hugged her back, waking myself up. "You could have told me you'd come back." She said, in Italian, awakening me even more. God, it had been a hot second since I spoke to someone in Italian, "You look so grown up and so beautiful. Oh!" She hugged me once more, lingering only for a moment. "I'm sorry. I just missed you. It's been almost two years since you've been home."
"Yes, it has been too long. I missed you too." She smiled approvingly at my attempt at flawless Italian. She was the only one who encouraged my dad and me to remember our roots. I had missed her too much. She was the closest thing to a mother to me. I actually got sick when I first got to university. Dad said it might've been the lack of food I was ingesting. Aunt Carina said I was missing her food. I believed in the latter.
"Lucas, you look well. You wanted to forget about us?" Dad hugged me for a brief second before doing his best impression of a smile.
"Tried to, you wouldn't let me." The forced joking tone in my voice didn't pass unnoticed to dad.
Aunt Carina gestured to the bags laid on our dinner table, "If there's something I know you won't forget is my food. Seems like you didn't even clean yourself up." She gestured to my bags, still on the spot next to the door and our shoes. "Go. I'll prepare everything."
Not resisting the temptation, her arms embraced me once more. And this time, I took my time with her hug. I had forgotten what it was like being home. Her inexplicably soft hands caressed my overgrown curls and tears filled her green eyes. A trait possessed by my grandfather, that was now inherited by all of us.
Dad only nodded and smiled softly. His eyes wrinkled when he smiled and the dark circles around his eyes gave away what his past day or week had been like. I nodded back at him and made my way upstairs, taking all my baggage, emotional too.
Her cooking was every bit of the nostalgia I expected and by a second I almost shed a tear... or two. Over dinner, she made sure to tell me everything about the past years here in Blume Bay. She made sure to tell me about all the people dad had saved, how many weddings she had attended and made flower arrangements for, and how her business was blooming, mind the pun. A city known by its large flower production had been a little low on roses, therefore they held a competition, awarding the most beautiful rose. The deadline was in two weeks and aunt Carina was yet to find one she considers the most beautiful in her garden.
Blume bay was a strange city.
Being a plant geneticist and a florist, though, she was sure to win the contest. She spent over half an hour showing me her plants and flowers. Taking my opinion about which was the most graceful flower and then proceeding to ask why therefore proving my point.
When my father grew tired of having flowers as his background noise, he suggested with stringency that I wash my truck. "You traveled twenty hours, allegedly nonstop, so I find that a valid suggestion."
"Right. Of course." Aunt Carina smiled as an attempt to raise my spirits, but the effort to put on a smile myself was too much. She noticed that. Years of a strained relationship wouldn't be fixed in a week's worth vacation.
Only after driving Aunt Carina home, a 20-minute drive, and listening to her prod me into talking about my new life away from home, I got around to washing my truck. The blue sky slipped into yellow as the ocean swallowed the sun. Years of sunsets came to me, culminating in the idea that no sunset was as beautiful as Blume Bay's.
"Hey, Lucas?" A disembodied silvery voice called out to me and took me by complete surprise when I looked and the voice unveiled to be taller than be, by no more than a few centimeters.
Seemed like the flowers weren't the only thing that grew around here.
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