Page 67 of Don't Puck Up

The familiar neighborhood whizzed by as we drove. It was the same, yet so different—a lot like me. So many of the old insecurities I thought I’d shed had reared their ugly heads again just by driving down the street.

It was lined with beautifully maintained colonial houses that had SUVs in garages, basketball hoops on driveways, and during summer, bikes in yards. At this time of year, there was a dusting of snow everywhere. It was magical. Christmas decorations had come down weeks earlier, but I still remembered which of the houses were lit up when I was a kid.

My parents lived at number twenty-five. Mom thought it was a good number—Christ’s birthday. Our Christmas celebrations weren’t the gaudy kind with lights and Santa and his reindeers. We’d had a nativity scene complete with real hay in the manger.

We rounded the bend in the street, and my heart stopped. There were cars parked everywhere, and instinctively I knew they were all there to see us.

“Shit,” Kam muttered. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

I met the driver’s gaze and knew he was listening. “Nah, busy is good,” I lied. “What’s a bit of noise when it’s happy kids playing?”

“Yeah,” she grumbled. “Of course.”

The driver pulled up, and I slid out, then held my hand for Kam to take. We watched as the driver pulled away, and with my belly in knots, I gestured to the house with a tilt of my head. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Chris—”

“Please. Let’s just do it.”

I didn’t even have the chance to knock before Mom swung the door wide. She looked older, her hair greyer but still cut in the severe bob she’d had since I was young. Her fashion choices hadn’t changed either. From the same style of sensible flat black shoe she’d worn since I was a kid to the pencil skirt, buttoned blouse and cardigan, and pearl necklace, Mom always looked like she was dressed for Sunday Mass.

She stood there on the threshold, her arms open wide for me and a toothy smile lighting up her face. “Chris, love, it’s good to have you home.”

I hugged her, holding her tight for a moment longer than I normally would, then pulled back. “Good to see you, Mom.”

“Kamirah,” she greeted with a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Mom,” I warned.

“Come in,” she said to me, that overly bright smile firmly back in place.

Kampressed her lips together in a forced smile and gestured for me to go first, probably so she could hide behind me. I had no problem with that. If I could make this any less uncomfortable for her, I would. It was what I should have done right from the very beginning.

We entered, and memories hit me, knocking me back a step. Photos lined the long corridor and all the way up the stairwell, documenting mine and my brothers’ earliest memories, as well as all their kids’ milestones. There was a cacophony of noise coming from the living room, but one voice stood out above all the others. It was my niece, Bella’s.

“Go, Uncle Chris! Kick butt.”

“Bella,” my brother, Luke warned.

“You called everyone,” I muttered under my breath.

“Of course,” Mom responded, her brows furrowed and head tilted in question.

In her eyes, it was a stupid observation, but I’d spent so much time actively distancing myself from my family that I’d assumed none of them would even bother coming. The only people I spoke to on the regular were my nieces and nephews.

It shouldn’t have surprised me, though. Sunday lunches were the norm for Mom and Dad. It wasn’t surprising for Mom to have the full cohort of my brothers, their wives and kids, as well as Kam’s family here, so why would it be any different today?

“Chris is here,” Mom called out as we walked through the archway into the living room. The flat screen they had mounted to the wall was new, highlights from the Seals’ last game playing.

Mom’s words started a stampede of nine kids from toddler to teenager jumping up and careening toward us. The floors vibrated and walls shook from the noise, and I held my arms out, bracing myself for their enthusiastic welcome.

“Kiddos!” I shouted. They’d all grown so much in the years since I’d last seen them. I wasn’t as present in their lives as a decent uncle should be, but I also needed the distance. The thought of seeing them was a double-edged sword, painful no matter which approach I took. That’s why I called every chance I had.

William, the eldest of my nephews, was the spitting image of his dad, my eldest brother, David. He and I looked so much alike that there was no mistaking us as anything but brothers. Will could easily be my son, except that at fourteen, he’d already surpassed my height.

I was the runt of the family. The shortest amongst my dad and brothers, Luke, stood a good six inches taller than me, each of them closer to seven feet tall than my measly six foot. I was also the black sheep—the only one who’d left Boston, the only one who hadn’t followed in my father’s footsteps and gone into the family business. He’d started a small carpentry company a few decades ago, and with the addition of my brothers, they’d grown it into a thriving construction firm. As if that wasn’t enough of a disappointment, our lack of kids was appalling to them, as was our distance from the church.

I squeezed every one of my nieces and nephews tight, and Kam did the same. If nothing else, those hugs had been worth the trip out here.