Page 4 of Return To You

Even if I’ll never live here, it’ll be nice to feel normal when I come.

Although I never wanted to work on the farm, even if I’ve been gone too long, I still want to be part of the family again. I’m done being a loner. I have three brothers and a sister who all but idolize me. A mom and dad who adore me.

I have no business staying away any longer.

Case in point. I hear Mom’s shrieks of pure happiness the minute I take my helmet off. She runs to me and lunges into my arms, and I twirl her around.

You’d think I’d gone to war or something.

“Awww…” she says, at a loss for words, pinching my cheeks. She searches my eyes, and I know she’s wondering. She’s wondering if I’m here by accident, or if I remembered her birthday.

She still thinks I’m disconnected from the family. From her.

I grab the flowers from the saddle pocket and shove them into her hands. “Happy Birthday, Mom.” Then I step back, prepared to memorize her look of disbelief and bliss and gratefulness all mixed together as she goes through the different stages a mother, I suppose, experiences at the return of the prodigal son.

“Bir…?” She looks at the flowers. At me. Squints. Tucks her nose in the flowers. “Mmm. They smell good. Why, thank you!” Then she tucks her arm under mine and takes us up the front porch. “Craig, guess who’s here!” she says, shoving the flowers in a dark corner of the kitchen.

“Well, looks who’s here,” Dad echoes, taking me into a brief hug and slapping my back. “Why didn’t you call? What brings you here?” His eyes are dancing. At least he’s happy.

“Ma’s birthday,” I proudly announce.

“Who wants lemonade?” Ma butts in.

“Your Ma’s birthday, huh? Which one?”

Oh fuck. This isn’t good. Maybe it’s a test? “Her…big one?” I’m pretty sure Mom is turning fifty this year. Does she not want to celebrate? Shit.

Dad chuckles, crosses his arms, and bounces on his heels. “You missed it.”

“Oh f—darn.” I glance at Mom, who’s arranging the flowers in a vase now. “Sorry—was it last week?”

Dad is having a field day. “It was last winter. January. But since you’re here, you could stay ‘til her next birthday.”

Mom looks up, hopeful.

“Next January?” I ask stupidly.

“That’s typically how birthdays work. Come back like clockwork on the same day every year.”

Mom sets the vase on the dining table, then hugs me. “I don’t care, honey. Long’s you're here, I’m happy.” She tilts her head back, her eyes brimming with true joy.

I hug her tighter. “Well, Happy Wednesday,” I say and feel her laugh against my chest.

Her voice returns muffled. “Happiest Wednesday ever.”

Minutes later, we’re seated on the front porch, sipping lemonade in stem glasses—“because it’s my birthday,” Mom said. “Now, tell us all about what you been up to,” she adds.

And I do. I catch them up from our last long phone call, up to now, when I’m between assignments.

“So what’s next?” Dad asks.

“I requested orders for a billet at Hulbert Field.” I don’t tell them that’s my second choice. My first choice, I don’t get to request it. I’d be tapped on the shoulder. I’d be fucking great at it, but the brass will think I’m too young. Mom frowns. “Hulbert Field?”

I nod. “Florida.”

“Florida?!” she beams. “Why that’s closer than Germany! Still the crypto thingy?”

“Yep. Cryptanalysis and SINGINT.”

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