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The front door opened and I froze.
It was still a strange thing, to be living alone in the home I'd shared with Lauren and Elizabeth for so many years. I hadn't gotten used to the quiet of having the place to myself. Any noise out of the ordinary startled me and I was constantly reprimanding myself, telling myself to relax when the house creaked or a drop of water splattered into the sink.
“Dad?” Elizabeth's voice called out. “It's just me.”
I took a deep breath, the momentary anxiety leaving me at the sound of my daughter's voice.
I walked from the kitchen to the entryway. I'd just finished unloading the dishwasher and putting the dishes away when the door startled me. “Hey. What are you doing home?”
She had a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a purple roller bag standing upright next to her. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she wore a blue Triton’s sweatshirt and baggy gray sweatpants.
She dropped the bag to the wood floor in the small entryway. “I finished finals early. My history professor canceled his and just took our last paper for our final grade.” She rubbed at her eyes. “And I'm exhausted and just wanted to come home.”
I knew she was tired. I'd heard that for the last couple of years. She'd chosen to stay in San Diego after flirting with the idea of leaving the state for college. She was in the middle of her third year at UCSD now and it hadn't been everything she'd hoped it would be.
She was running track, but it had become more of a chore. She'd had small, nagging injuries over the last couple of years that had prevented her from truly excelling and it frustrated her to no end. She'd chosen UCSD in part because it was a smaller program and she thought she could make a bigger impact. The fact that she hadn't been able to do that wasn't something she'd ever considered.
She kicked off her shoes and set her hands on her hips. “Is it okay? That I'm home earlier?”
I frowned at her. “Of course. You don't have to ask to come home.”
We hugged for a moment and it felt good to have her back in the house.
She ran a hand over her hair after she pulled away. “Jenny and Ann were having some people over tonight to celebrate the end of finals and I just...I just didn't want to be there.”
I leaned against the wall in the entryway. “You okay?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just worn down.”
“Classes okay?”
She rolled her shoulders again. “Sure. Fine. Boring. Don't worry. I'm doing fine.”
“So much fine.”
“Whatever,” she said, smiling. “How are your classes, Mr. Tyler?”
I chuckled. “They are...fine.”
“Kids haven't turned on you yet?”
“They're afraid of me.”
“I believe that.”
When she left for school, I'd been determined to get my act together. I'd spent too many years looking for her and the years after finding her, just treading water. I needed direction. I'd taken her suggestion and gotten my teaching license, eschewing police work and investigating for something more stable and solid. I'd done my student teaching at a middle school in North Park and then stayed on for the year after as a full-time social studies teacher. I'd never felt comfortable, though, and when an opening popped up at Coronado High School, I'd more or less forced my way in. I was halfway through my first year teaching American History and I still wasn't sure what the hell I was doing.
I walked over to her and hugged her. “I will always prefer you to be home than anywhere else.”
She wrapped her arms around my waist. “I know. I should've called, though.”
“No need,” I told her. “But I am going out for a bit.”
She pulled away from me and eyed me. “Out?”
“Mike Lorenzo called and asked me to meet him for dinner,” I said.
“Mike?” Her voice raised a notch. “Everything cool?”
She associated Mike's name with much of the past in the same way I did. When he'd called, I'd felt this strange tingle at the back of my neck, something I hadn't felt for a number of years.
“I think so,” I told her. “He called me this morning and asked if I had time. I would've said no if I'd known you were coming home. I can call him and cancel.”
She shook her head. “No, you don't have to. Honestly, I'm wiped. I'm gonna shower, grab something to eat, assuming there’s food here, and then probably go to bed.”
“There is definitely food here,” I said. I looked at her, trying not to be too obvious as my eyes searched her face. “You sure everything's okay?”
She reached behind her neck and for a moment, she reminded me so much of her mother. Lauren used to do the exact same thing when she was thinking. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Yeah,” she said. “I am. I just needed the break, you know? Classes sort of sucked and I'm tired of my roommates and...I'm just whining.” She smiled. “I just need my own bed for a while.”
I nodded. “Fair enough. You wanna run in the morning?”
“No,” she said. She snorted. “But, yeah, I should.”
“We don't have to.”
“No, it's fine.”
“There's that word again.”
She rolled her eyes, another reminder of her mother. “Yes, Father, let's run in the morning.”
“I've been doing sand sprints just to break up the distance,” I told her. “Not sure you'll be able to keep up.”
She picked up her duffel. “Yesterday, we did ladders working down from 800. Three times.” She smirked at me. “I'm not worried.”
I laughed. “Alright. There's some leftover lasagna in the fridge. Bunch of sandwich stuff. I wasn't going grocery shopping until tomorrow. Or you can order a pizza.” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. “I can give you some cash.”
She grabbed the handle of her roller. “You know I have a car, right? And a bank account?”
“I'm just letting you know.”
“Thanks,” she said. She started to walk past me, then stopped abruptly and put her head on my shoulder. “Seriously. Thanks. I'm just cranky. And I've missed you.”
Even though she was only half an hour away up in La Jolla, she tried not to come home all the time, and I tried not to drop in on her without warning. It had been hard the first year and it hadn't gotten much easier. But it was now the second week of December and I hadn't seen her since Thanksgiving and it felt way too long.
I kissed the top of her head. “I've missed you, too, kid. Glad you're home.”