The Sanders Sides

38 - Family: Virgil

The humid Los Angeles air slapped Virgil in the face as he stepped out of the airport, his backpack feeling heavier than usual. He adjusted it on his shoulder with a sigh, the weight a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil churning within him.

A beat-up blue pick-up truck idled by the curb, its faded paint job a familiar sight. Toby, his older Father by eight years and practically a second father to him, leaned against the driver's side door, his arms crossed and a scowl etched on his face.

Virgil knew the drill. Toby hated airports, hated crowds, hated anything that disrupted his meticulously planned routine. Yet, here he was, a beacon of grumpy loyalty in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

He trudged towards the truck, the silence stretching between them as thick as the Florida humidity.

He reached the truck and tossed his backpack into the bed with a dull thud. Toby glanced at him briefly, his smile deepening.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, his voice gruff, but playful.

Virgil opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his tongue. He just wasn't up for a fight. Instead, he mumbled a simple, "Hey, dad," and climbed into the passenger seat.

The truck roared to life, and Toby pulled away from the curb, navigating the traffic with practiced ease. Still, the silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the air conditioning struggling to combat the stifling heat.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching into an eternity. Virgil stole a glance at Toby. The tense set of his jaw, the furrow in his brow – it was a familiar picture, his Father's way of expressing concern without actually saying anything.

Suddenly, Toby reached out, his hand rough and calloused, and ruffled Virgil's hair. The gesture, abrupt and unexpected, caught Virgil off guard. He flinched slightly, surprised by the unexpected touch.

"How was it?" Toby mumbled, his voice gruff but softer than before.

Virgil hesitated. He wanted to unload everything – the drama, the fights, the revelation about Roman – but the words wouldn't come. He just shrugged, a single word escaping his lips.

"Fine."

It was a lie, a pathetic attempt to shield his Father from the turmoil within him. But Toby, bless his grumpy soul, seemed to understand. He didn't press for details, just gave Virgil's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Alright, kid," he said, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of warmth. "Let's get you home. We can talk about it later, if you want."

Virgil nodded, a flicker of gratitude warming him from the inside out. He might be a moody mess, but Toby, despite his gruff exterior, always knew how to handle him.

The rest of the ride home was spent in comfortable silence. As they pulled into their driveway, the familiar sight of their childhood home brought a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. Maybe, Virgil thought, amidst the chaos and confusion, home was still a place where he could be himself, grumpy silences and all.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, then turned to Toby. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Thanks for picking me up."

Toby raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Anytime, kid," he said. "Now, get inside before you melt in this heat."

Virgil climbed out of the truck, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He was home, and even though things were far from perfect, he knew he wasn't alone. He had Toby, his grumpy guardian angel, and that, for now, was all that mattered.