“It’s okay.” I hug her tight. “It’s good to see you, Mom.”

Seeming to collect herself by sniffling once more and wiping under her eyes, she raises her chin. “You look . . . you look so grown up, Harbor.” I’ve changed on the inside, so maybe that’s reflected on the exterior. She touches my cheek. “You’re so handsome.”

“I take after you guys.”

My dad comes around the back corner of the pool house with a garden hose in his hands. “Where should we put the garden—Harbor. I didn’t know you were home. Hold on.”

He disappears again.

I turn to Mom and ask, “When did the two of you start taking care of the property yourselves?”

“We don’t, but we’ve rediscovered our joy of being outdoors when the weather is nice and decided to take on a few projects to spend time together.”

They’re cute. If it keeps a marriage together, I’m all for it.

My dad returns hose-less this time. “I had to turn off the water.” Embracing me fully, he doesn’t give me a pat on the back. Just a genuine hug. “I’m glad to see you, Harbor.”

“I’m glad to be here, Dad.”

Stepping closer to mom, he holds her hand, and says, “We made lemonade. I’ll go get it, and we can talk.”

“Where are my parents, and what have you done with them?”

“Eh,” my dad says, waving me off. “Figured you’d enjoy the lemon flavor after living in Italy. They’re known for their lemons and limoncello.” I like that he’s sharing facts about where I’ve been. It’s both entertaining and endearing.

Mom and I walk to the outdoor dining table and sit under the yellow umbrella. She reaches over and covers my hands with hers. “I’m just . . . the house feels right with you back in it.”

I wondered if I would feel awkward or uncomfortable being away from everyone for so long. That they all know the reason also played on my mind. What do they think of me? Did I lose respect? Or—

“Here we go.”

My dad sits down, and my mom fills the glasses. I take a sip and then look around the estate. “I always loved it here. I missed it.” Glancing back at them, I say, “I miss my family.”

“We’re just so happy,” my mom says, a tentativeness in the back of her throat. “I worry—”

“You’re happy but worried? What about?” I ask.

My dad rests his hand on her arm, and replies, “That you’ll be leaving before we have a chance to spend some quality time together.”

I think about Lark up in New Haven. Four hours and I could see her again. But should I is the question.

My mom says, “Thank you for always checking in.” She’s courteous enough to overlook the first few months after I left. It was probably the time when they were most worried. They should have been because I was a fucking mess.

After that, I refused to give up on this life. I didn’t with Lucas, and I wasn’t doing it now. “I feel good.”