First message
The flight was just long enough to make everything feel heavier than it should’ve. Stale air, half-slept hours, the quiet hum of people pretending they’re not thinking too much. I spent most of it staring out the window, going over conversations that haven’t happened yet—trying to figure out what version of me shows up when I land.
The Uber ride is quieter. Suburban streets, clean sidewalks, houses that all look like they belong to someone else’s life. My dad’s new place fits right in—nothing like the one I grew up in. Different. Polished. Like it’s already moved on without asking me.
I haven’t met her yet. His wife. My stepmom. Even thinking it feels strange—like trying on a title that doesn’t sit right on my shoulders. I don’t know what she’s like, what she expects, or if she even wants me here.
Me and my dad… we’ve never really been bad. Just not close. Conversations that stay on the surface. Updates instead of anything real. But maybe this summer changes that. Or at least doesn’t make it worse.
The Uber pulls away behind me. My bag rests at my feet as I stand there for a second, looking at the door.
I could just walk in. It’s still technically his house.
But I don’t.
I lift my hand and knock. The sound echoes louder than it should. Or maybe that’s just me.
There’s a pause—just long enough for doubt to creep in. Like maybe I should’ve just walked in after all. Like maybe this whole thing is already off to a weird start.