But it was the simple two-story ranch-style house with the basketball hoop attached to the garage that would always be home. He’d offered to buy his parents a new place when he made it to the NFL and had felt no small bit of relief when they’d turned him down. This house provided comfort when he needed it. His old bedroom remained a sanctuary that he could return to when he yearned for peace and quiet.

Although they wouldn’t allow him to do too much to the house, Jamar had convinced his dad to let him add on the woodworking room he’d always wanted. This past summer he’d built his mom a “she shed” that his dad now complained about because she spent too much time in there.

He pulled up to the house, happy to find both their cars parked in the driveway. They weren’t expecting him home for a few weeks yet—not until Thanksgiving. It would be fun to surprise them.

He used his house key to let himself inside.

“Hey,” he called. “Anybody home?”

His question was initially met with silence, but then he heard, “Jamar?”

The panicked lilt to his mom’s voice sent him racing to the kitchen.

Jamar made it to the arched entryway and stopped short. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to burn his eyes out or go to his old room and cry.

His mom sat atop the kitchen counter, her skirt hiked up. She held her unbuttoned shirt tight over her breasts. His dad was bare-chested, his pants and belt gathered at his ankles.

“What are you doing here?” they yelled at him.

“Dying inside,” Jamar answered.

He pivoted and started for the front door. He wasn’t mature enough to accept the fact that his parents had sex. He would never be fucking mature enough for that.

“Jamar, come back here,” his mother called.

“That’s okay,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll see you guys at Thanksgiving.”

“Boy, would you get back here!” His mother caught him by the arm. She still held her shirt together with her fist.

Jamar squeezed his eyes shut. “Please button your shirt. God, I’m never surprising you guys again,” he said. He went into the living room and plopped down on the sofa, propping his elbows on his thighs and cradling his head in his hands.

“You’ve got to expect to see some things you may not want to see when you come sneaking up on empty nesters.”

He groaned. “I don’t want to hear this.”

His dad came into the room, his belt buckle still flapping. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I will be asking myself that same question for the rest of my natural-born life,” Jamar said.