I watch out the window as the ocean recedes, and the clouds hide the ground from view until we begin to descend. The familiar landscape of the American Midwest beckons like a friend. The squares and rectangles of land bordered by hedgerow trees and the black oil-and-rock roads that I grew up riding my bike on.
I am a different person, coming back after these six months; I have transformed. I’m not the scared girl I was when I left. I am figuring it out, this thing called life, and I’m doing it well. I have the most incredible boyfriend, and he loves me. Someday he’ll be a senator or something. Maybe I’ll be a senator’s wife. Or maybe I’ll be a famous model, or even an actress. The world is at my feet, and I feel like a millionaire sitting on the plane, going back to visit my quaint beginnings.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and follow the other passengers down the aisle, after we’ve landed, nodding to the flight crew as I cross into the tunnel that leads to the airport. A blast of frigid air rushes with me, and I taste the snow in it. I smile, enjoying that minute of a season other than summer. I follow the crowd of passengers, checking the signs for baggage claim. I feel the confidence as I walk, the power of being beautiful and knowing it. I’ve brought my portfolio with me, with each of the ads I’ve done in it. The only thing I don’t have is the commercial, because bringing it would have been too much like bragging. I have stories to tell, prospects on the wind to share with my family.
I see Steven as I come down the hall, and he looks at me, then past me before his eyes snap back and his mouth drops open. I laugh out loud. It is amazing what confidence looks like. The last time I saw them I was a scared pupped, whipped and left behind, pregnant and scared of what the future held. Now I am a woman, conquering the world. He walks to meet me, his face splitting into a wide smile, so like my mother’s that my breath catches. He lifts me off the ground, like I am a child.
“Uncle Steven!” I say, exuberant.
“How are you?” he asks, and we linger at the baggage carousel waiting for my suitcase to come up. I’d borrowed a suitcase from Darla, and when it comes around, I point and he grabs it off the belt.
“I’m great! I’m so glad to see you!”
“Packing light,” he mocks, hefting the bag, which is anything but light. Now that I have clothes, now that I have options, I sometimes will try on three different outfits before I am settled.
“I always do. How are Grandma and Grandad?” I ask, and his eyebrow quirks up.
“Grandma and Grandad, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah, figure I better get over it. You know?”
He laughs and puts his arm over my shoulder as we head toward the exit. “Good, that will mean a lot to them.”
“Thanks for the ticket,” I say. “I can pay you . . .”
“Nooo,” he says, letting the word draw out low and long, shaking his head. “It’s a gift, for Grandma, actually. It’s all she wanted. You can’t pay for it.”
I don’t say anything as his words sink into the gray spaces of my mind, spaces that missed out on having family along the way. All of the Thanksgiving dinners I didn’t get to be a part of, all the cousin things I missed. A small flare of anger burns toward my mother. I quell it. I am not that girl anymore. She did what she had to do, and I am just fine. She kept me so isolated, and I do wonder why, but I can’t be angry about it anymore.
When we get to his car, he puts my bag in the back seat and holds the door open for me in one fluid motion. I stop before getting in the car and look at him. “Is that really true? That’s all Grandma wanted?”
“Yeah, it’s a pretty big deal that you are here. We are so proud of you.” He doesn’t look at me when he says this, and he goes around to the other side of the car. His comment was just a toss-off, not even something he maybe planned to say. I have family, and they are proud of me. Wait till they see what I’ve brought home.
“How’re Tyler and James?” I ask as we merge onto 70 and head toward Sorento. I am grateful for the heat pumping out of the vents; I’d forgotten what cold felt like. The light jacket I thought to pack is in the bag behind the seat, but even that isn’t going to be enough.
“They’re good. James is so excited to see you.”
“I can’t wait. Is Tyler home?”
“Yeah. He’s home.” There is an irritated edge in his voice. “He’s boogered up his shoulder.”
“Oh, how did that happen?”
“Landed bad in a practice. Just an accident,”
“Rotator cuff?” I ask, and he nods.
“He wants to lay out next semester and go back in the spring after he is healed.”
“Will that affect his scholarship?”
He nods again, his lips compressed. “If he doesn’t keep going and study something, he’ll never go back.”
“I understand.”
“He just doesn’t want to work for anything. Just wants to play the game.”
“Maybe he’ll surprise you.”
“I don’t know. He doesn’t have much motivation.”
“Motivation is a big deal,” I agree.
“Mom says you’re taking classes?”
“I am. I want to be a nurse.” I don’t mention that I haven’t signed up for next semester. I also have never told them I quit the job at the hospital.
“That’s good,” he says. “You’re motivated; maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
A flush rises up my cheeks, and I let out a small chuckle. “Oh, I don’t think I know so much.”
“You’ve got drive, Alison. That’s ninety percent of success.”
“I hope so!” My laugh rebounds off the windshield.
Steven talks as we drive down the interstate, exiting onto the ramp toward Greenville and on through the City of Trees. I press my hand to the window as we pass by Lola’s shop, and I remember her telling me that she’d moved out of St. Louis because she missed the trees. I hadn’t understood then, but after six months of living in the concrete and desert world of Southern California, I do now. Of course all the trees are bare, but they are still here, their branches reaching out over the road, promising to bud and leaf in the spring. I send out a silent wish toward Lola and hope she is well.
We make our way out of town on 29 and then turn toward Sorento, and the knot of anticipation tightens. It feels like a lot of pressure to be going home as a granddaughter.
We pull into the drive and park behind the TransAm and Grandad’s Ford Ranger. I open the door and climb out, grabbing my suitcase from the back seat. Fat snowflakes land on my cheeks and melt. There is no wind, just silent falling flakes, and I lift my face up to catch a few on my tongue. I have missed the weather of the Midwest. The front door flies open, and Grandma Barb and Grandad Will step out onto the porch, welcoming me home.
