Homecoming

by Emma Lydon

“I love you,” he told her.

She paused. “Yeah, I know.” She hung up the phone with a loud click.

Magdalena wandered back into the dining room, where Rudy had begun to throw his cheerios at the wall. His tiny red face and angry fists seemed cartoonish in the modern kitchen. She tried unsuccessfully to muster the strength to scold him, but gave up quickly and headed for her bedroom.

After everyone went to sleep, Magdalena left her bedroom. Chilly in her lace teddy, she crept down the marble floors. At the children’s open door she stopped. A sliver of light fell on her daughter’s sleeping frame. Next to her lay Rudy, nestled in Lucy’s long arms. She felt a sudden urge to curl up in the bed with them, fortified by the teddy bears, legos, and picture books strewn around the room. Instead she quietly closed the door, and tiptoed back into her room.

·

Magdalena took the kids to school the next morning. She awoke with a jolt long before the nanny could hustle the kids out of bed. She carefully chose her outfit: a forest green Barney’s sweater and skinny khaki pants. In the bathroom she applied mascara and lotion promising a “fresh, honeysuckle smell.”

An hour later, after Rudy’s four year old hand waved a sweet goodbye and Lucy dodged her light peck, Magdalena returned home. Giuliano was already there.

“Lena!” he cried, grinning his infectious grin.

“Lano,” she responded slowly, but her response was muffled in a giant hug.

“Let’s go inside, okay?” She gasped after a moment, massaging her neck.

“Nice digs,” Lano commented snidely as they passed the doorman.

She returned with a strained smile as they stepped into the elevator. Upon reaching her apartment on the seventh floor she punched in the code, and the door swung forward. For a moment she saw her new house in his eyes: the glossy floors, antique furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows. Not bad for a girl from Nowhere, New Jersey.

“Have Momma and Papa seen your palace?” Lano asked.

“Yeah, they visit me more than once every three years, you know,” she scolded, but Lano was done listening. On a delicate side-table, next to a bowl of glass fruit, was a stack of business cards.

“Magdalena Moretti-Joyce. Random House Inc. Publisher,” he read aloud, “Nice. Formal.”

Magdalena could hear the criticism in his voice. “What?” she snapped, “What’s wrong with my business cards?”

Lano let out a sigh, and held his hand up in a gesture of defeat. “Let’s not fight, Lena, hmmm? I came to see you.”

She paused a moment, surprised by the fleeting rush of anger. “Yeah, sorry.”

There was an awkward pause. Lano stretched out on her stiff couch, his dusty hiking boots resting on the glass coffee table. Magdalena felt a momentary urge to push his feet off, but resisted.

“Tell me about my niece and nephew,” he commanded carelessly, brushing his thick hair off his face.

“What do you want to know?” Magdalena asked, chewing on her bottom lip. “Lucy’s fifteen. Irritating. The same as always. Rudy’s learning to read.”

“Rudy, learning to read? What is he, two?” Lano sounded surprised.

“No. Four. You have the same birthday, October 5th.”

“I forgot,” he admitted.

“I know.”

“Did you tell Lucy I was coming?” Magdalena nodded. “Well,” Lano pressed, “is she excited to see her favorite uncle?”
“It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Well, tell me about your husband. Ralph, right?”

“Yes. He’s fine. On a business trip for a few days.”

They migrated towards the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” Magdalena asked. Lano shook his head. Magdalena ignored his response, reaching for the first thing to cook.

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve been doing?” Lano pressed.

“Sure.”

“I was mountain climbing in Colorado.”

“For three years?” Magdalena mumbled.

“What?” Lano asked, her comment lost in the loud chopping.

“I said, you’ve been climbing mountains for three years?”

“Oh no. That’s just been the last few months. Before that I spent eight months working at a ski resort in Whistler, British Columbia.”

“Yeah, I got your postcard. What else?”

“I studied turtle hatching patterns in Cancun, worked in an elementary school in East Los Angeles, raised cattle on an organic ranch in Texas,” he listed.

“You worked with ranchers?” Magdalena laughed.

“Yeah. They liked me.”

“Everyone likes you.”

“They like you too,” he lied.

She turned her back to him, straightening a tablecloth. “Yeah, well.” She let her sentence hang there, unfinished.

“Well, what?”

“What are you even doing here?”

“I got your message. You said Mom was sick.”

“Mom has been sick for years. Since before you left.”

“I know.”

“So why are you back?” Magdalena demanded.

“I don’t know, Lena.”

“You don’t know,” she repeated, stunned. “You don’t know.”

“What did you want me to say?”

Magdalena wanted to escape. She needed to open the windows, smell the air. Her apartment was too small. This whole damn city was too small.
“Nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” he tried, but Magdalena looked blankly, already gone.

“I have to pick Rudy up. He has a half day.”

“Let me come. I want to see him.”

“Rudy doesn’t like new people. You’ll see him tonight, after I’ve had time to prepare him.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“I had the maid freshen up a guest bedroom for you,” she called after her, “see you in a bit.”

·

The next morning, Magdalena awoke to the dulcet tones of Giuliano singing in the shower. She reached out her hand and smiled apologetically at Ralph, only to remember he was still away. She pulled on her lime green robe and walked towards the kitchen, where she waited.

It took Giuliano a moment to notice his sister when he entered the room.

Magdalena cleared her throat. “Good morning Lano.”

“Good morning,” he returned without looking up, his nose still buried in a cabinet.

“What are you doing?” Magdalena asked, hiding her irritation behind a yawn.

“Making breakfast,” he responded, “that is, if I can ever find your stash of Cap’n Crunch.”

“We only eat organic products in this household. No Cap’n Crunch. Sorry.”

Giuliano showed no signs of hearing his sister, as he continued on his search. “Ah-ha!” he cried in triumph, as he slid open the fake cabinet back behind the good china. “Let’s see, what do we have here?”

The stash was loaded. In addition to four boxes of Cap’n Crunch there were bags of marshmallows, bars of chocolate, packets of Top Ramen, and a mug filled to the brim with Redvines.

“You’re well stocked,” he grinned.

“Yeah well, it’s always good to be prepared. In case of a tornado, or something,” she finished lamely.

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Well, you know,” Magdalena began slowly, “I haven’t had cereal in quite a while.”

“I’m sure,” Guiliano said diplomatically.

“So, maybe just one bowl couldn’t hurt.”

“Of course not.”

·

“You can come over whenever, you know that. You’re the one who hasn’t visited in years. Don’t pin this on me.” Magdalena’s voice was tight, high. Not hers.

“Sorry, Lena. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“I know. They’re meeting us in less than an hour. Can we go in, please?”

They stood outside, eyeing the building.

“Just one minute.” He paused, knelt down, and picked a brilliant blue pansy from one of the planters lining the entrance. As Magdalena sailed through the sliding glass doors, Lano took a deep breath and one last glance at the sunny outdoors, before following her inside.

The sterile counters and fluorescent lights were the same as always, sharp on the sensitive eye. Lano followed Magdalena as she confidently navigated the twisting hallways.

“Lano. Lano. Giuliano!” Her sharp tone brought him out of his reverie with a jolt.

“Yeah, sorry. What’s up?” They were standing outside of a blank white door, with a small sign reading “Florence Moretti, Room 203”.

“I was saying, don’t be surprised if she doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know most people these days. It’s completely normal at her stage.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll remember me.”

“Okay then. Let’s go in.” She moved to open the door, but a gentle hand stopped her.
“Lena, can we just wait a minute?”

“No, the kids are meeting us here soon. Do you want to see Mamma or not?”

“Sorry.”

“Just man up and come on. Now.” She grabbed the collar of his plaid flannel and tugged.

They entered the room, Giuliano laughing and swatting at her fist on his shirt. A frail woman, delicate and confused, looked up.

“Mio bebé!” She cried, looking past the young man massaging his neck to Magdalena. “Oh my love, come give your mother a big kiss.”

“Well, she obviously remembers you,” Guiliano mumbled.

“Look who I brought with me Mamma. It’s Lano.”

“Lano? No. He’s much too grown up.”

“Yes, Momma, it really is him.”

The voice emerging from the frail body grew more frantic. “No, Lena. Stop it now. Stop doing this. I know my baby. He is not my baby.”

Guiliano sat down with his mother on the bed. “It’s okay. I know a lot has changed.” And he just sat there, twirling that poor dead pansy through his finger tips.

The room was still for a long time. Magdalena kept her fingers busy, avoiding the scene before her. Plumping pillow and rearranging the vases of flowers, the silent tears of her brother remained unnoticed. The stench of age and starched sheets thickened the air. Magdalena longed to hold her children, to breathe in the smell of baby hair and cheap teenager perfumes.

Just as the wish became unbearable, they entered the room. Lucy held Rudy on her hip, and the diapers bag on her other arm.

“Mommy,” he cried jumping out of Lucy fumbling arms.

“Hi, baby.” Magdalena breathed in his toddler smell, kissing his chubby fists.

“Say hello to your grandmother,” Magdalena instructed.

“Hello, grandma,” they called out in unison.

She reached out a hand to stroke Lucy’s face. “So beautiful. She looks just like our Lena. Always so quiet, polite. See how beautiful she is?”

“Yes, she is beautiful,” Guiliano agreed, but Magdalena could see his pain. She signaled to him and they slipped out of the room. They ran down the hallway, through the sterilized lobby, out the sliding doors, and landed with a dull thud on the patch of grass next to blooming pansies.

After several moments of quiet his voice broke the thick noon air. “Talk to me.”

“No. You talk to me.”

Giuliano grimaced. “I didn’t expect her to not recognize me.”

“Neither did I.”

“Really?”

She let out a dry laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “The favorite? The golden boy? I never thought anything could make her forget you.”

“But she remembered you.”

“I didn’t run away.”

“No. You didn’t leave. You ran away just as much as I did.”

“Semantics.”

“Hardly,” Magdalena was having trouble hiding her scorn.

“You’re still mad.”

“How’d you guess?” She couldn’t hide her sarcasm.

“You blame me for leaving?” he hesistated.

“No, you just have pretty crappy timing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” she tried to hold it back, but it was too late, “You abandoned me. I was twenty-three, pregnant, and alone. And you promised to keep me safe. You’re my older brother for god’s sake! Did you really have to travel just then, the moment I needed you?”

“How was I supposed to help?”

“I don’t know, but being on the other side of the country didn’t make it any easier. Lucy’s fifteen, and I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen your niece.”

“Is that what it’s really about?”

“Well, that’s part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

“You got to run off and save the world. You were the hero, like always. And I pay Momma’s medical bills. I’m always getting the short stick.”

“I know,” he frowned into the flowers, “it’s not fair.”

“Damn right it’s not fair.”

“But I’m telling you I’m here now.”

“For how long?” Magdalena scoffed.

He looked down at his watch. “Fifteen more hours. Think we can fix this by eight tomorrow morning? That’s when my train leaves.”

And as angry as she was at him, as much as she wanted to shout, tantrum, or cut holes in his camping tent and sleeping bag, all she could do was laugh. Soon they were both laughing, exhausted on the grass.

“So,” Guiliano said after a while, sitting up, “what now?”

“Life goes back to normal, I suppose.”

“Normal, what’s normal?” he asked.

“Well,” Magdalena said with a wry smile, “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

·

The next morning, Magdalena took Guiliano to Grand Central Station. She insisted it was only because he needed help carrying the bags, not out of any sentimentality. After all, she thought, nothing had really changed.

As Guiliano climbed onto the train, Magdalena handed him a present. “It’s stationary. And stamps. You can write us now, no excuses.”

“Thanks,” he grinned at her, retreating onto the train.

“Oh, Lano, wait!” she cried, surprised at herself.

He spun around. “What’s up?”

“I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Well, it’s just that,” she stalled.

“Spit it out already, Jeez Louise.”

“I love you too.”

“Yeah,” he said, as he rolled his bags into the train car, “I know.”