Page 11 of Lyrical

I squeezed him again. “God, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Mom.”

I knew I was biased, but come on; the guy was tall and handsome and smart and considerate and everything I’d ever want for him. And yes, he was technically my stepson, but anyone who thought that meant anything less to me deserved their teeth kicked in.

I couldn’t stop staring at him. Even physically he could pass for my biological child. His hair was sandy blond, his eyes gray-blue. He even had that one slightly crooked eyetooth just like mine, but on the opposite side. Crazy.

“Hey, Mom? If you want to hang out in the airport a while I’m cool with that, but we should probably go get my suitcase.”

“Oh, right!” I’d have plenty of time to stare at him later.

We hopped on the escalator down to baggage claim, and that’s when I noticed how exhausted he looked.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Not sure.” He rubbed his face. “I was up most of the night before, thinking I’d be able to get some sleep on the Milan flight, but it was too noisy.”

“You should have just let me pick you up in Chicago. It would have been earlier, and you could have taken a nap in the car.”

“Naw, it’s fine. I didn’t want to take the chance of snow and make you drive that far.”

See? Considerate.

We easily found the terminal since it was the only one actively being used. “Daniel, if you’re not up for it, we can skip the family dinner tonight. Get some rest and we’ll reschedule.”

His dark green bag came down the conveyer belt, and he hauled it off. “I can make it, Mom. I’d like to see everyone.”

“Your dad’s still planning on coming around nine. That’s probably way too late.”

“I can rest tomorrow. I don’t have an interview until Tuesday.”

“Already?”

“I told you I lined up a few. I’m not planning on living in my old room forever.” I opened my mouth, and he gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Come on, I’m ready.”

“You only have the one?” I thought he would’ve accumulated a lot more stuff.

“I didn’t need much at school. And Dad’s gonna give me some of his old suits until I can get my own.”

Already?“Where’s the interview?”

“Oak Creek.”

We took an elevator back up and crossed over to the parking structure. I eyed his lightweight jacket. “What was the temperature when you left Milan?” Their climate wasn’t that different from ours. It wasn’t like he left Tahiti.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe two degrees.”

“Two!”

“Oh, sorry, that’s Celsius. More like thirty-five.”

“That’s still not very warm.”

“We’re just going to the car. I’ll be fine.”

“Hungry?”

“Starving.”

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