Between Then & Now || Currently Editing for Wattys 2022

47.

When I pull into the driveway, they're already waiting outside. My Ma has her cardigan wrapped around her, arms holding her own body, and Kai is standing behind her, rubbing her back. Babcia stands a little further back, her oven mitt still on her hand. Aunt Rivers emerges from the front door, and I know that they already know and, this time, I don't really care.

As I bring the van to a stop and shut it off, gravel settling under the wheels, and get out of the door, they don't move. And I don't want them to. I take my time, walk over to the other side and open the passenger door, lifting Thelma out and placing her onto the ground. She follows slowly behind me as I make my way over to my mother, and, when I get closer, I notice a sadness in her eyes I should have been expecting but wasn't. She steps away from Kai and opens her arms, and, just as I get to her, I collapse into them and I wrap my own around her soft torso and bury my head into her neck, and I cry.

And, suddenly, there are so many arms around me, and I'm crying and Ma's crying. And no one judges us. And I realize that this is what love is.

To be able to come home after going AWOL after your boyfriend cheats on you, after your father passes away just before you get the chance to forgive him, after you screamed in empty streets and risked your life cliff jumping with people you never met and ate mushrooms and shouted at some innocent grass in a national park. To not be judged and not be questioned but just accepted and understood and not taken for granted.

And we cry and we cry and I'm not sure how much time has passed when we finally pull away, and my mom holds me at arm's length, and we're still crying, but she pushes a strand of hair out of your face, and kisses your forehead, and tells you she loves you, and that everything will be okay even though there is not certainty that anything ever will be. Because that's all you need to hear right then, because the gravel under your feet is falling away and you still have no idea what is coming tomorrow or the day after that or the day after that, but you just need someone to tell you that it's okay - that they will still be there. That they still love you and that it is okay to cry because life fucking sucks and that is okay.

Without saying anything, she takes my hand, and we begin to walk back into the house, and, for once, I'm not worried about a stupid documentary or a job or finding a boy who might actually treat me right. Because all the people I have and could possibly need are right here. The house smells like drożdzówka and incense and laughter and a fullness that is somehow empty.

And everything is going to be okay. And we will eat our drożdżówka and the too many kołaczki Babcia made and we might not say a single word throughout it. But that is okay. Because all we have is now and now it is time to eat our drożdżówka and the too many kołaczki Babcia made because that is how we show love and that is all we can do right now. Because tomorrow is not guaranteed but that is okay because we all have inevitable endings and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop that.