“Coffee first,” she decided.

She started a fresh pot, then ducked into the tiny laundry room housed between the kitchen and dining room. Not much had changed there besides the amount of clutter. Since there were no longer two teenage girls in residence, the space was tidier. The little clothesline strung between two walls was no longer laden with bras. Now, it held unmatched socks clipped with wooden clothespins.

She opened the lid of the washer and began stuffing damp clothes into the dryer. Everything took twice as long as it should with only one good arm. She wasn’t looking forward to four to six weeks of being without full use of her dominant hand.

Something red and lacy caught her eye. Digging it out, Remi gingerly held up a fancy thong.

“Dear God. What is this?”

She grabbed her phone and snapped a picture.

Remi: Please tell me this is Mom’s and not Dad’s.

She saw three dots appear then disappear. It took a solid five minutes before her sister responded.

Kimber: What are you doing digging through our parents’ underwear, perv?

Remi: I came home to surprise everyone. By the way, surprise! Mom and Dad abandoned me and gave me a list of chores.

Kimber: Some things never change. Except Mom’s underwear apparently.

Remi: Are you home? Want to hang out?

Her sister didn’t respond, so Remi finished loading the dryer and pushed the start button. The tinny vibration on top of the appliance signaled a new message.

Mom: Don’t forget to clean the lint trap! That’s how fires happen.

Remi: I know, Mom. I’m not 10!

Guiltily, she stopped the dryer and emptied the lint trap before restarting it. Then just for fun, she pinned the thong to the clothesline where her parents would definitely see it.

Dryer running, fire averted, and mug full of fresh coffee, she headed into the basement. The wooden steps were scuffed and worn in the middle from decades of trips up and down. Paint splatters on the risers told the story of her earliest artist days.

With its low ceilings and lack of natural light, the Ford basement hadn’t been the best studio. But as long as she covered the chest freezer with a tarp before she started painting “happy little trees” with Bob Ross, no one cared how messy she got the concrete floor and block walls.

The lid of the freezer opened with a haunted house creak, and she peered into its frosty depths.

Remi: Dad, you have 1,000 roasts in the chest freezer. Which one am I defrosting?

Dad: It’s a special occasion! Bust out the turkey breast. We’ll have ourselves a Thanksgiving redo! Now, time to go break the spirits of my class with a pop quiz!

She broke out into an honest to goodness smile for the first time in what felt like forever. It was good to be home.

She took the turkey breast back upstairs and submerged the bird in a sink full of cold water.