Gold and rust-colored trees whiz past me in a blur. I open the driver's side window and let the valley air stir the hair around my face.
It's been a long day. A long week. An even longer six months. At one time, life had been comfortable; a predictable pattern of monotonous tasks that always made sense. Now, nothing does, and I'm not sure if it ever will again.
My chest tightens as I pull into the driveway and park behind Mom's shiny black Mercedes. It's not a maternal vehicle, by any means, with its two-seat cockpit and a top that retracts into an open space in the rear. It's fast and fearless, just like my mom. Since it's been just the two of us for so long, I can hardly expect her to drive around town in a minivan, all those empty seats going to waste. Besides, lugging around a bunch of soccer brats has never been her style.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Ten after five. She's home early today. Not by much, but enough to take notice. I grab my bags and sprint into the house, a robust waft of dinner hitting me square in the face.
Mom's in the kitchen, pulling a roast from the oven. "You're late," she says, barely looking in my direction.
My bags hit the floor with a thud. "Sorry, I stopped by Mey's. Why are you home so early?"
Mom sets the roasting pan on the stove top and sucks up the fat drippings with a baster, squirting the steamy juice over the top of the meat. "We're having company over," she says, tucking the pan back into the oven. She pulls off her mitts and tosses them on the counter. "It was your father's idea. He and Meredith will be here, and so will the Navarros."
I'm about to plop onto a stool but the news stops me in my tracks. "Emma's coming over?"
"In about half an hour."
"Shit." My eyes meet hers over the butter dish on the kitchen island and she gives me a look. "Sorry. It's just, if I'd known, I would have come straight home after practice."
"If I'd known you weren't, I would have told you." Her perfectly curved eyebrows lift as she studies me. "Are you alright? You seem off."
Can she tell I've been crying? I look away, my hands rushing to my messy bun. Wisps of hair have escaped the band and surround my head like a frizzy crown. "I'm just tired. We had a hard practice today."
"That's good. You've gotta stay on top of your game. Keep North Carolina interested."
I humor her with a nod. Mom's always been supportive of my soccer endeavors. During games, she's that boisterous spectator cheering so loud the people in the next county over can probably hear her. Though half the time, I question if she has a clue what she's screaming about. She's never been one to talk sports. That's Dad's job. I'm not even sure if she knows the difference between fullback and wingback.
I grab my bags and shove them into the nearest closet. "I'm gonna take a quick shower."
"Have fun," her voice calls after me as I bolt up the stairs. I roll my eyes and smile.
I strip off my clothes and stand beneath the shower head, letting the warm water wash over my clammy skin. Steam rises from the tile and swirls around the ceiling as I shampoo and rinse my hair.
It's been almost two weeks since I've seen Dad, which means it's also been two weeks since I've seen Rowan, and that's a long time for us to go without hanging out together. We may be ten years apart and only half related, but we get along as well as any sisters would. Maybe even better, if you consider Mey and Bo.
Some kids I know have been weirded out when their parents remarried and they end up with younger siblings they never imagined they'd have, but I've never once felt threatened or uncomfortable about Rowan. She's a blessing, and if I could see her every day I would.
From the moment she was born, there's been this magnetic force about her that sucks me right in. And it has nothing to do with the fact that she's blind. Although that's certainly one reason I feel extra protective of her. Sometimes, when we're at a restaurant or out shopping at the mall, kids will point and stare when they catch her rooting around with her white cane. I've even seen adults hold their gaze longer than they should. And I get it—they're curious. But the mere idea of anyone treating my sister unfairly is enough to grind my teeth.
Rowan was born two months early, weighing in at a whopping three and a half pounds. The doctors tried to stop the contractions, but once she was on her way, there was no holding her back. Since she came so early, the blood vessels in her retinas hadn't finished developing, and though she looks like an average child, she's never been able to see. Not even a little. The most she can make out are shadows and occasional changes in light.
But the deficit has never slowed her down. Rowan's just as mischievous as the next kid, with an infectious silly streak and razor-sharp wit to match.
The shrill sound of the doorbell invades my thoughts. I finish toweling off before throwing on comfy gray joggers and a soccer sweatshirt. Dad's voice carries up the stairs. I run a brush through my damp hair and fly down to greet them.
"There she is—our future college athlete," he says, as soon as I walk into the family room.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey, kiddo. Missed you."
He swallows me in an embrace. He has that dad smell about him; a heady mixture of Old Spice and freshly mowed lawn, even though he usually pays a landscape company to take care of it for him. Not that he wouldn't love to do it himself. He's an outdoorsy kind of guy. Camping, kayaking, bird-watching. You name it, and he's done it a thousand times. But with his work schedule these days, he's lucky to make it home before Rowan climbs into bed.
I hug Meredith next and we exchange a few pleasantries, but I can't keep my eyes from roaming around the room. "Where's Rowan?"
"Over here," a silvery voice squeals from behind. As soon as I turn, pink silly string sprays at me in one continuous strand before falling to a sticky heap on the floor. Rowan's holding her cane in one hand and an aerosol can in the other. "Did I get you?" she asks, her tremulous laughter filling the room.
"You got me. Come here, you little brat." I pull her to me and crush her in a hug. "What did I do to deserve such a greeting?"
She's still laughing. "Daddy said you're going to play soccer for your favorite team, and I'm helping you celebrate."
I cock my head and shoot Dad a glare. "We don't know if I'm going to play for them yet. They just said they're interested."
"Of course, they are." Dad grins. "With your grades and outstanding Cruyff Turn, they'd be fools not to want you."
"I'm glad you think so. I just hope you're not too disappointed if it doesn't happen." I plant a kiss on Rowan's head, gather the silly string from the floor, and toss it in the trash.
"I could never be disappointed in either one of my girls."
Mom clears her throat. "Alright, then. You better have brought your appetites with you," she warns, rubbing her hands together. We follow her into the kitchen. "I may have gone just the teensiest bit overboard. We're starting off with avocado caprese salad, followed by my famous Mississippi pot roast, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted asparagus, and homemade cheddar rolls. And to satisfy our sweet tooth afterward: honey orange madeleines for dessert—and whatever it is you brought with you." She eyes the baking dish in Meredith's hands.
"Oh." A pink tinge crawls up my stepmother's neck until it covers both cheeks. "It's nothing fancy—just brownies sprinkled with powdered sugar."
She's never said so, but Meredith's always been a little insecure around Mom. If ever there were two women who are polar opposites, it's them. Mom is sleek and sophisticated, with a rock hard body from all her time spent in the gym. While Meredith is softer, sweeter, and more than a little plump. But what Meredith might consider her downfalls are the very reasons why I love her. I wouldn't trade Mom in for anything, but sometimes it's nice to get lost in Meredith's tenderness. To lounge around and be lazy instead of always having to be polished and on the go.
"Brownies—my favorite!" I say, hoping to put Meredith at ease. I catch Mom's eyes roll as she turns toward the stove. It's obvious she's aware of Meredith's self-doubts, and if I'm being honest, I think she sort of enjoys it.
"Can I do anything for you, Jazz?" Dad asks, calling Mom by her nickname. He takes the brownies from Meredith and sets them on the island.
"Everything's taken care of. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy the company. And speaking of which, the Navarro's should be here any minute."
As if on cue, the doorbell chimes again.
"I'll get it." I take a slow breath and head into the foyer. Dinner with an audience is not how I imagined spending time with Emma. I'd prefer to have her to myself for a while.
I open the door, muster a smile, and invite them inside. "I'm glad you were able to come over for dinner."
Mrs. Navarro leans in for a quick embrace. She's back to being her flawless self. It's a far cry from how I'd found her last week. "Thank you, Arbor dear. We appreciate the invitation. All we've eaten are the meals dropped off by friends and family. It's so sweet how everyone's allowed us to get Emma settled back in as smoothly as possible," she adds with a careful smile, "But truth be told, we're getting tired of lasagna."
"You can say that again." Mr. Navarro pats his stomach and slides a look my way. "I bet I put on ten pounds this week."
If he has, I'm not sure where he's hiding it. He's a finely tuned machine, just like most everyone in this picture-perfect town.
"My parents are in the kitchen," I say, letting them walk ahead. Emma hangs behind, looking just as unfamiliar as I remember. I drop my voice so they can't overhear. "How are you?"
She rolls her eyes. "As well as can be expected. They still won't let me out of their sight. I can barely take a shit without one of them checking in on me."
I open my mouth, close it. Unsure of what to say.
"Let's get this over with." Emma loops her arm through mine and pulls me down the hall.
When we enter the kitchen, the adults are exchanging hellos. The fathers are shaking hands and Mom is hugging Mrs. Navarro with one arm, while her other is fastened around a big bowl of salad, the shiny green lettuce leaves peeking over the rim.
Emma surveys the scene in silence before clearing her throat. "Hello, everyone. It's good to see you all again."
As my parents turn to greet her, their eyes widen and mouths drop. Before anyone can respond, the salad bowl Mom's holding drops to the ground, the ceramic shattering into several pieces. Avocado and shards of clay scatter across the hardwood floor.
Mom's face pales beneath her spray tan. "Emma?"
"It's me Mrs. H. Alive and in the flesh." Emma releases my sleeve and steps around the salad fixings. She wraps her thin arms around Mom's neck and kisses her on the cheek. "It's good to be home. I'm ready to put it all behind me and get back to how things were before. I won't be seventeen forever, after all."
Mom cautiously returns the embrace, but her eyes fix on mine over Emma's shoulder, immense and uncertain.
And I know what she's thinking.
What kind of person reappears out of nowhere and pretends like nothing's wrong?