The front door swung wide, and a gust of late September air rolled into the hallway, carrying the smell of wet leaves and car exhaust.
Derek was early.
He stood on the porch with a duffel bag over one shoulder and a booster seat hanging from his hand, looking thinner than the last time I’d seen him at Christmas two years ago. Behind him, my niece Maddie, nine years old and all elbows, held her little brother Theo by the wrist. Theo was six and wearing a dinosaur backpack so big it looked like it was carrying him.
« Surprise, » Derek said, but there was nothing surprised in his voice. He sounded tired, and he sounded like he’d practiced the word in the car.
My mother lit up the way she used to when Derek came home from college. She stepped past me like I was a coat rack and pulled him into a hug, then bent down to squeeze the kids.
« Look at you two, » she said. « Look how big you are. Grandma has your rooms all ready. »
Rooms. Plural. My room, and the office, and the guest room. I noticed she didn’t say « Aunt Naomi’s room. » I noticed she didn’t say my name at all.
Then she straightened, turned, and did exactly what I’d known she would do.
