Page 29 of The Sweet Spot

To: Wren Angelos

Subject: re: re: stuff

Dear Wren,

I went to NYU. It was my dream school. Interestingly, I too started off majoring in sociology, but I realized pretty soon I wanted to study people groups by photographing them. It was a major shift for me, leaving science for the arts. Thankfully, my parents are artists and they supported me.

My scariest job was a couple of years ago, photographing a series of violent protests in Southeast Asia. Some of my best photos came from that assignment, but there were times I thought I wouldn’t make it home. Most of my assignments are exciting…one that comes to mind is last year’s Winter Olympics. Similarly, I have too many favorites to pick just one, but last year’s Holi festival in Udaipur is high on the list. I’d love to share my photos with you one day.

I hope your mom doesn’t feel blindsided when you tell her. That was never my intention.

Yours,

Arlo

Luca

Surreal. Being back here is surreal.

Carried by the crowd, I float through SFO airport, bleary eyed and blinking. Christmas music plays quietly from the overhead speakers, frequently interrupted by announcements. Except for a very brief trip back home in early August, which I paid for myself, I haven’t been on American soil in ages.

My phone buzzes. Stepping aside so the couple behind me can rush ahead, I slide my phone from my pocket and glance at the screen. It’s my brother, Nico. I texted him a few minutes ago, upon landing.

Nico: In the cell phone waiting area. Text me when you get your bags.

Luca: Will do.

I yawn, widely. Not only is Brazil five hours ahead of San Francisco, but our already-long flight was delayed thanks to shitty weather. Following the overhead signs, I weave my way through the late-night airport crowdand head toward baggage claim.

The carousel finally appears. Bags go around and around, slowly being picked up by people who look as exhausted as me. I spy one of my battered, black suitcases, followed closely by two more. Usually I travel light, but I was living abroad for six months. Dragging my bags off the carousel, I send Nico another text and drag myself outside.

He pulls up about ten minutes later, grinning as I lug my oversize bags over.

“Hey, bud,” he says, enveloping me in a tight hug. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks, Nic.” I return the hug, clapping him on the back gratefully. “And thanks for coming. Sorry it’s so late.” It’s nearly two a.m. Nico has work in the morning, and small children, so I appreciate the sacrifice.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says, popping the trunk. “It’s not every day your little brother returns home from the motherland after having been gone for so long.”

Chuckling at his extra dramatic choice of words, I load my bags and shut the trunk. We jump into his minivan and pull away from the curb right as one of the airport officers begins to wander over.

Yawning again, I close my eyes and sink against the headrest. I spent the second half of the flight sleeping, but my system is going haywire with the time zone change. It feels good to relax.

“How was the flight?” asks Nico.

“Longer than ever. I fell asleep during both my movies.”

“Damn, I haven’t been back there for…eight years,” Nico muses. “How’s Pai? You two patch things up?”

I rub my hand over my beard. I haven’t shaved in days. “We’re not actively fighting anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Nico glances at me, squeezing my shoulder. We kept in touch all right during my time away, but I kept things positive, focusing on my job, and then later, my studies. Most of what he knows about what went down is from Mãe, who can’t keep a secret to save her life…not that our dad’s shitty behavior’s a secret.

Pai grew up in LA, a third-generation Brazilian kid with an aggressive desire to outperform everyone else. We have a lot of family in Brazil, so he went to the University of São Paulo on full scholarship, returning to the US only to attend grad school at Stanford. That’s where he met Mãe. They fell in love, got married and had Nico and me, but after a while Pai’s desire to return to Brazil to advance his career in software development drove a wedge between them.

That, and the other woman he’d started seeing over there.

Somehow, despite all of that, the divorce was probably as amicable as it could be. Mãe says they’d grown apart long before they split, but I’ve always marveled at how well they seem to get along.

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