Page 37 of Pucking Strong

Dad waves again, making his way down the gravel drive. “Hej hej! Welcome home, son!”

Teddy glances my way, slipping his sunglasses off. “Are we getting out?”

With a curt nod, I exit the car.

Tears fill Dad’s eyes as he crosses to my side. “My boy. My Henrik.”

We embrace, and I can’t help but inhale, breathing deep the smell of him. There’s a lifetime of memories in the scent of his shaving cream, the wool of his favorite sweater, the hint of coffee on his breath. He’s as tall as me, though thinner, his body growing frail with age. But his hands are still strong. They grip me like iron.

“Come inside,” he says. “There’s coffee waiting on the stove.”

I lean away, blinking back my tears. “Dad, I brought Petra home.”

He nods, holding tight to my forearms. “Good. Family belongs together.”

“Mom?”

“She waits inside.”

Before either of us can turn, Mom calls out, “Gunnar, where is he? Let me see him.”

I smile, glancing over Dad’s shoulder. Mom stands in the open front door. She’s dressed in a cream sweater and a long knit skirt. Her grey hair is tied up in a bun at her nape. As her memory goes, she sometimes struggles to recall faces. Each time she remembers me is a blessing.

Stepping around Dad, I walk her way. “Mom, I’m here. I’m home.”

Making her way down the porch steps, shetsks, brushing me aside. “I know you’re here, Henrik. Such a good boy, you always come home. I was talking abouthim.”

I follow the direction of her point. Teddy stands by the side of the car. He glances from my mother to me, brows raised in confusion.

Shit. I sometimes forget he doesn’t speak Swedish. “My mother wants to meet you,” I say in English.

“Of course I want to meet him,” she says, switching to English too. “It’s not every day your only son brings his new husband home to meet the family.”

I wince at her use of the wordhusband, shooting Teddy a quick look of apology.

Next to me, Dad chuckles, still speaking in Swedish. “You gave us quite the surprise last night. Your mother hasn’t stopped talking of it since. She’s been cooking all morning. I hope you’re both hungry,” he adds to Teddy in English.

Remembering my manners, I step forward. “Teddy, these are my parents, Gunnar and Maria Karlsson. Mom, Dad, this is Teddy O’Connor, my … partner.” It feels strange to say it out loud.

“Nice to meet you,” Teddy says with a nervous smile, tucking a stray loc behind his ear. “Sorry, I don’t know any Swedish.”

“Quite alright,” says Dad. “You’re welcome here, Teddy.”

I hurry around the car, trying to intercept Mom, but she’s too fast. She reaches out with both hands, pulling Teddy into a tight hug. With a soft grunt, he accepts her welcome, patting her on the back. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Karlsson.”

She pulls away, cupping his face with a weathered hand. “We’re family now. You may call me ‘Mom’ too.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Are you afraid of me, Theodore?”

Teddy smiles again. “No, ma’am. Should I be?”

She just chuckles. “Theodore. That’s your name, ja?”

“Yes, ma’am. But most people call me Teddy.”

She brushes her thumb over his lips before feathering her fingers over the locs on his shoulder. “You’re a good person, aren’t you?”

“I think so. My own mother might disagree sometimes.”

Shetsks again, running a hand over his stomach. “But you’re so skinny. They don’t feed you enough. Make sure Henrik eats too.”

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