Page 179 of Dream On

“I’m so glad you made it,” Joplin says. A fusion of sadness and relief fills her eyes before she snags me by the wrist. “Come on. You need real food. Mom made her famous pecan pie.”

My sister pulls me inside the house while my duffel bag drags behind me, catching on the front stoop. The living room is exactly how I always remembered it: cozy, warm, decorated with a raggedy beige couch, my grandmother’s old rocking chair draped with a red-and-orange checkered shawl, and a beat-up coffee table centered on the ugly rust rug.

It’s perfect.

But I freeze when I notice something else situated in the corner of the room where a fake Ficus tree used to be just a few days ago.

An upright piano.

“Jop,” I gasp, taking in the familiar instrument. “Mom and Dad moved the piano from my room?”

“Oh.” She shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve been coming over a lot, and I’m teaching myself how to play. They figured it would get more use in the main living area.”

I don’t have time to process the change before my parents stroll in from the back door off the kitchen. Mom is wearing a blush gown, an apron tied around her waist that says “My Rolls Are Homemade.”

She does a double take when she spots me standing in the middle of the house like a misplaced sock. “Oh, Stevie. We thought you weren’t coming.”

Dad turns, peering into the room. His eyes warm like melted fudge. “Sweetheart.”

My gaze gleams with tears. “Hi,” I murmur. “I wanted to get here earlier, but I just…”

I don’t need to finish the sentence.

Mom and Dad race toward me, both of them picking me up for respective hugs, and I squeeze them back with all the strength my withered body will allow.

“Let me take those,” Mom says, removing the cookie platter from my hands, her own tears shimmering back at me. “Are you feeling better?”

My smile wilts through a nod. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

Heartbreak just takes some time to heal.

“We were getting Emmy secured inside her pen for the night,” Dad adds. “You know how she gets this time of year.”

Mom presses a hand to my shoulder. “We’re so glad you came by. Unfortunately, we do have to run out tonight, just for a little while. The neighbor invited us over for dessert.”

“Fran,” Dad grumbles. “Crotchety old lady wants to make amends. She was still bitter over the fact that I couldn’t fix her leaking faucet with a roll of duct tape and the Lord’s Prayer. I assure you we won’t be long.”

My face falls. “Oh. No problem.” I glance at Joplin. “Are you going too?”

“Regrettably. We need at least four people to play bridge.” She sticks a finger down her throat and makes audible gagging noises. “Don’t worry. We’re not expecting you to tag along.”

“Um…right. I’ll probably just go to bed so I can be up early and make up for the time lost today. Hopefully you didn’t start the mashed potatoes yet.”

“Nope,” Joplin says. “We love leaving the real manual labor for you.”

Dad glances at the time on his faded gold watch. “We still have a few minutes. Let’s get my lovely daughter—”

“Second favorite daughter,” Joplin interjects.

“—a slice of pecan pie.”

My sister wraps an arm around my shoulders, smelling like floral blossoms in early spring. Home and familiarity waft all around me as I take a seat at the table while Mom cuts a piece of homemade pie.

Disappointment niggles, knowing they’ll be going out tonight. A quiet evening alone sounds dreadful when my mind is spinning and my heart is in turmoil.

Alas, it still has to be better than that Thanksgiving two years ago when Emmy escaped her pen in a thunderstorm and my entire family chased our dairy cow down a rainy dirt road like poorly scripted characters in a live-action cartoon. Mom’s flour-dusted apron swung behind her like a superhero cape while Dad raced from the house in his bathrobe and Chewbacca slippers, teetering the line of precardiac arrest, his complexion matching the color of Mom’s blueberry pie. Emmy had never been more pleased with herself. The neighbors were also thrilled, perched outside in lawn chairs, wearing ponchos, because they thought there was a parade.

A slice of pecan pie is slid in front of me on a paper plate featuring an animated turkey. “Thank you.”