Page 89 of Love and the Laws of Motion
“Jesus, Nick, we’ve been so worried,” he murmured, his voice tight with emotion.“Thank God,” he whispered, thumping him hard on the back.“Thank God you’re okay.”
Once again, a surge of emotion caught Nick by surprise.He hadn’t expected, he hadn’t realized...Jesus, he’dmissedthem.All this time, under the anger and the hurt, there was this gaping chasm of loss, and he hadn’t even known it was there.Livie had sensed it, though.All this time, something had been missing in him and she’d seen it, she’d recognized the shape of that hole in his heart.He’d needed his family.And Livie gave them back to him.
His father released him, gripping him by the back of the neck as he looked him over.“You look good.”
Nick had to clear his throat to speak.“I am good.I mean, I’m fine.”
“Good, good.That’s good,” Dad said gruffly, releasing him and stepping back.All that emotion had clearly made him uncomfortable.
Chris stepped into the moment of awkward silence that followed.“There’s somebody you should meet, Nick.A couple of somebodies, actually.”
Looking past his father, he spotted them across the room, the woman who must be Chris’s wife, and on her hip, Chris’s son.His nephew.
“Hi, I’m Kate,” she said, coming toward him with her free hand extended.She was small and slim, with long light brown hair, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and blue eyes that scrunched up when she smiled, like she was doing now.
“Nice to meet you.”
She didn’t stop with a handshake, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.“Welcome home, Nick,” she said near his ear.“You’ve made everybody so happy.”
He felt a flush of embarrassment, a tinge of shame.All he’d done was show up, after hiding for eight years.He didn’t deserve this kind of gratitude.
Chris hoisted the wiggling toddler out of her arms.“And this,” he said, his eyes full of pride, “is Anthony.”
“Hey, man.”How were you supposed to greet a baby?Shake his hand?Pat him on the head?
Anthony looked him over with big dark eyes—the same as Chris’s, the same as his own.Then his face lit up and he flailed one chubby fist at Nick.Guess that’s how you said hello to a toddler.
“Nicky’s still standing here in his coat,” his mother said, snapping to attention and bustling around him.“Michael, take his coat.Chris, get your brother a drink.Come in and sit down, Nicky.”
And just like that, Nick was home again.
It was a little weird.For one thing, the house was different.It was all the same stuff—the furniture he remembered, the pictures that had always hung on the walls—but all rearranged in a new setting.It felt like a dream, where you think you know where you are, but it’s all different in a million little ways.He had to ask where the bathroom was.The spare bedroom wasn’t full of his stuff or Chris’s.It held a crib and a shelf full of toys.Instead of football on the TV, there was some show on calledPAW Patrol, and little Anthony watched it like it contained the mysteries of the universe.
“I’m going to start him onStar Treknext year,” Chris told him with a grin.
Right.Star Trek.He and Chris had watched hours and hours of old VHS tapes ofStar Trekwhen they were kids.It was their thing.That’s where he’d developed his love of space movies.
There were other familiar things waiting to jump out and swamp him with nostalgia.His mother still wore that ratty red plaid apron when she cooked, the one that had belonged to her mother and grandmother.She busted the thing out of storage every Thanksgiving and Christmas.The smell that permeated the house when she took her sausage stuffing out of the oven made his mouth water and his heart clench.
Dinner was a little awkward, if he was being honest.So much time had passed, so much had been missed, that they ended up asking polite questions of each other like a bunch of strangers stuck at the same table at a wedding.
“What’s your business called, Nick?”his father asked.
“My business?”
Dad shot a brief look at Mom.“Your mother said you own your own business?For the computer stuff?”
“Oh.It’s not really a business.I freelance.”
“Can’t get health insurance as a freelancer,” his father grunted.
“You can if you pay for it.”Which he totally intended to do, one of these days.It just kept slipping his mind.
“And what’ll you do about retirement?No pension or 401K when you work for yourself.”
“I have retirement covered, Dad.”Not that he ever expected to give up his work, but if and when he decided to, there was plenty of money to take care of it.
“So you’re doing well, then?”That was Chris, trying to shut down their father’s prodding.
