“I’d ask if you were hungry, but I think you’re supposed to eat something every couple of hours, regardless of whether you want to or not.”

Mom’s tone is an attempt to sound either sympathetic or calm. Unable to make up her mind, the quiver of her voice defeats whatever mood she is trying to set. I know underneath her statement that she is both annoyed and worried. Worried about my recuperation, and annoyed with those feelings of concern.

She started sifting through my release papers to check over my eating and medication schedule for the fifth time during our 15 minute drive from the hospital. As much as I want to set her mind to rest, telling her I will be okay, I know that the third time is definitely not the charm for my mom. I will have to rely on dad to talk some sense in her… eventually. For now, he would merely reach his hand behind his driver’s seat and give my ankle a small squeeze, followed by a smirk at me in the rearview mirror.

I was coming home.

Pulling into the driveway, I finally take in just how beautiful it is outside. As I step out of the Chevy, the sun heats my skin and the cool breeze swishing my bangs into my eyes doesn’t even give me a chill. Odd, considering it’s the middle of February. I guess I should take it as a good sign. I’m out of the hospital and on my way to recovery. A good reason for a beautiful day, I suppose.

Mom rushes to the front door with her keys in hand; my father waits for me to come around the front of the car to put a hand on my shoulder as we come up the walkway. The sweet smell of freshly cut grass lets a smile creep across my face and I turn to my dad. He knows how much I love that smell.

It took me some coaxing, but I somehow managed to convince my mom to let me see Eve and Jess. I promised that the three of us would just hang out at home, and my dad believes the interaction will actually do me some good.

“Staying positive and happy is the swiftest road to recovery,” he smiled at me and mom. At that, mom sighed and raised her hands as a sign of defeat.