Leo looked up at me.
“Are we going in?” he asked.
I took a breath. “Yes.”
The living room looked almost the same.
The same faded blue curtains. The same family photos on the mantel, though I noticed mine stopped at age eighteen. The same clock ticking above the hallway, loud in the uneasy silence.
My mother hovered near Leo as if afraid to frighten him away.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “Juice? Water? I might have lemonade.”
“Water is okay,” Leo said politely.
His manners seemed to undo her. She pressed a hand to her chest before hurrying toward the kitchen.
My father sat slowly in his recliner, the same one from that day. I remained standing.
Leo wandered toward the mantel and studied the photos.
“Is that Mom?” he asked, pointing to a picture of me in a graduation gown.
“Yes,” my father said. His voice cracked slightly. “That’s your mom.”
