I added broccoli, carrots, and water to the hot canola oil and then pushed them around the skillet as it sizzled. “I miss you, too. I don’t know. I’ll look at my schedule, chicken and vegetable stir-fry, and hopefully, it will be amazing.”

“Have you mixed the sauce? You have to mix it first, you know, to let it blend and breathe.”

“Yes, Mom. It’s sitting on the counter next to me.”

“Did you add anything extra? It’s good just the way I make it.”

I giggled. “No, Mom. It’s your sauce.”

“Why are you eating so late?”

“I’m on West Coast time.”

“Still, it’s nine there. You shouldn’t eat so late.”

“I work late,” I said with a smile.

“They’re not keeping you too busy at work, are they?”

“I’m keeping me too busy. I like it that way though. You know that.”

“You’re not walking alone at night, are you?”

“Yes!” I teased. “In just my underwear!”

“Liis!” she scolded.

I laughed out loud, and it felt good. It seemed as if I hadn’t smiled in a long time.

“Liis?” she said, concern in her voice.

“I’m here.”

“Are you homesick?”

“Just for you guys. Tell Daddy I say hi.”

“Patrick? Patrick! Liis says hello.”

I could hear my father from somewhere in the room. “Hi, baby! Miss you! Be good!”

“He started the fish oil pills this week. Gives him gas,” she said.

I could hear the scowl in her voice, and I laughed again.

“I miss you both. Good-bye, Mom.”

I pressed the End button with my pinkie, and then I added in the chicken and cabbage. Just before adding the pea pods and sauce, someone knocked on the door. I waited, thinking I’d imagined it, but the knocking happened again, louder this time.

“Oh no. Oh, crap,” I said to myself, turning the heat almost all the way down.

I wiped my hands on a dish towel and jogged to the door. I peeked through the peephole, and then I scrambled to open the chain and bolt lock, grabbing at it like a madwoman.

“Thomas,” I whispered, unable to hide my utter shock.

He was standing there in a plain white T-shirt and workout shorts. He hadn’t even taken the time to put on shoes, gauging by his bare feet.

He began to speak but thought better of it.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“It smells good in there,” he said, taking a whiff.

“Yeah.” I turned toward the kitchen. “Stir-fry. I have plenty, if you’re hungry.”

“It’s just you?” he asked, looking past me.

I chuckled. “Of course it’s just me. Who else would be here?”

He stared at me for several seconds. “You’re wearing my hoodie.”

I looked down. “Oh. Do you want it back?”

He shook his head. “No. No way. I just didn’t realize you still wore it.”