WELCOME HOME
REILLY BROWNING
The air was still. The scent of lemon lingered. I stood in the middle of the room with my arms crossed over my chest. My breathing was steady and quiet as I looked around. Nothing would have seemed familiar if I hadn’t already known that it was. My foot tapped at an annoying pace, but I couldn’t get it to stop. The half-broken ceiling fan provided the room with a comforting hum.
The walls had initially been painted a soft white eggshell color. It had felt off-putting. It was mine, but I felt like an invader. My mismatched furniture providing it with some character, but no real connection. Chipped baseboards and scuff marked walls tainted what was once pristine. It was suffocating here. Every attempt of making the room into a haven had been lost and reduced to imperfections representing my failures. Each fallen painting and lost thumbtack forever immortalized in this brown box. I let my foot lift to nudge it slightly.
If there was a definitive test to tell me what was wrong with me, I would have done it already. The uncertainty and lack of solid answers plagued me with guilt.
The door to the room pushed open pulling my eyes. The familiar figure of my younger brother was stood on the other side. His curious eyes followed my movements. He was too little for them to want him to understand. We both stood, unsure of each other. My shaky hands pulled at my sleeves, as my mouth dropped open to speak.
“What are you doing?”
I watched the shoulders of his Spiderman pajamas lift and drop with a small shrug. His avoidant eyes telling me everything I needed to know.
“Where’s Libby?”
The same small shrug was returned to me once again. I reached to play with the tassel of my hoodie but came up short upon realizing it was no longer there. The air I was breathing was tainted with something sour. They had deep cleaned before I had come home. The same smell of Pine-sol reminded me of that. Guilt overtook my chest as I stood, watching him in the doorway. I used to read him to sleep. I used to trace him in chalk. Now? I don’t think either of us knows what comes after this.
My older brother walked past my door. He noticed Parker watching me. Irritation and avoidance radiated from him as he pulled and lifted Parker into his arms.
“Hey Patrick.”
He didn’t reply, which said more to me than if he had. They disappeared down the hallway. My door wasn’t allowed to be closed anymore. I sat down on the freshly made bed. The sheets were crisp and pressed. It was obvious what my mom had channeled her stress into. I could hear them setting up for dinner in the dining room. The bustling is what kept me seated in place. I wasn’t ready to have to face them all. I wasn’t exactly hungry either. Another shadow approached my door. My dad’s nervous smile peaked around the edge this time.
“Mom wants you down there.”
We both knew this request was far more complicated than just joining them for dinner.
Mom hadn’t spoken a word to me for the last two months. Since the night I’d left, she had seemed detached and somewhat mortified. Dad and Libby had been the only ones to visit. Not joining them for dinner wasn’t an option. My shaky knees carried me through the permanently ajar doorway as I followed close behind him, down the stairs into the living room. Shadows from the kitchen danced around the floor of the hall as I approached. Silence ensued once my face entered the dim yet warm light. I looked to mom, who still seemed to be refusing to look at me.
My chest felt heavy as their eyes landed on me. Libby’s smile, although forced, brought a sense of comfort as she gestured to the seat beside her. It took all my energy to walk and slide into the chair, somehow it felt taller than I remembered. I glanced around the kitchen, noticing the new locks on all the cabinets. The knife holder seemingly had disappeared from the counter as well. My younger sister had taken the seat next to Parker. She looked at me with something I couldn’t quite place.
“Hannah, set the table.”
They were the first words I’d heard mom speak. My eyes shifted to watch her moving through the kitchen as Hannah stood to set the table. Libby interlaced our fingers, bringing our hands to rest in her lap. The pressure of her squeezing grounded me in the moment. Dad took the other seat next to me. I could feel each person’s gaze analyzing me in different ways. Patrick’s with something close to annoyance, Parker’s with shyness, and Hannah’s with what somehow seemed like envy.
The doctors told my family that there was no “right” way to feel about what happened. They told me I could only control my own thoughts on it, and that going home I would have to be aware and understanding of my impact on everyone else. I felt selfish for wishing they would all just be happy that I was back.
Each plate was placed in front of their respective chairs. My eyes slipped down to my placemat, noting the presence of pork chops on my plate. I couldn’t help but applaud mom for the unnoticed mental warfare she had committed. Everyone sat down. Uncertainty sitting dense in the air. No one could remember how we did dinner before. She still hadn’t looked at me. My throat tensed with a harsh swallow as I picked up the utensil I was given. The iridescent plastic fork reflected the warm light as I retrieved it from my placemat. It felt like some kind of joke. She was waiting for me to say something wrong. She needed a reason to blow up that wasn’t what happened the last time she saw me.
“Thank you.”
I was the one to fill the silence. My siblings all eyed me again before darting their gazes down to their plates. Dad shot mom an expectant look as she cut her meat. My throat constricted again. My eyes blinked rapidly, pleading for her to look at me. The silence lingered until her chair pushed back, scraping against the hardwood. Her clenched fist dropped her napkin on the table before she exited the room. Dad stood, quick to follow. I forced a deep breath as I dropped my focus back to my plate.
None of us left at the table knew what to say to each other. Something here was broken. It was no secret who caused it. Guilt gnawed at my throat again as I searched for any words to make this better.
“Two minutes of being back and you already pissed off mom. That’s a new record I’d say,” Hannah spoke with a scoff. Libby dropped my hand to place her arm in front of me in defense. Before she could speak again Patrick interrupted them with an unexpected level of authority.
“Can we please just pretend like everything is fucking normal? Please? I just want to eat my dinner.” His tone was filled with deep despondence.
The overwhelming hush left him with a sense of ease.
I dragged my fork through the scattered food left on my plate, the plastic felt warm in my palm. In the silence, the clear sound of mom starting her car could be heard. Vague echoes of yelling between our parents filled the space at the kitchen table. Eventually the yelling became distant, along with the loud rumbling of her engine. A few minutes later we heard the electric whirring of the garage door closing, followed by the sound of dad reentering the house. He returned to his seat, coughing once to clear his throat.
None of us dared to look up.
I took a bite as my hollow eyes locked in on the now empty chair at the head of the table. The scraping of silverware against plates sounded like a symphony compared to the previous silence. Dad cleared his throat to speak.
“Your mom is going to stay with her sister for a few days.”
Hannah scoffed again, slamming her fork down, the glass on the table rattled. She pushed back her chair, a noise that now felt eerily familiar before she stormed upstairs. Dad paused for a moment before standing to go after her. Parker, Patrick, Libby and I sat alone at the once full table. I looked around before my gaze fell to Parker. His hands slid along the edge of his placemat as he played with the Hot Wheel’s car he had managed to sneak to the table. I opened my mouth, somehow willing myself to speak again but Libby had beat me to it.
“I’m gonna help him to bed. Come on Parker”
She stood calmly, gentle as held his hand to help him off his chair. He gripped tight, following close behind her. Patrick and I were alone now. I could feel his intense gaze watching me. After a moment longer I let my eyes flicker up to his. There wasn’t anger or annoyance anymore. There was something profoundly empty in the way he eyed me. He slid back his chair and stood.
Time felt still.
He took a hesitant step toward the hall before pausing again, shaking his head once. His throat cleared before he turned to speak over his shoulder.
“Welcome home.”