Returning Home

“Are you sure you don’t need to… I mean, want to stay a bit longer, Aki-dear?” Mom gives me an encouraging smile, eyes looking suspiciously shiny. “You know we love having you here, and…”

“Thanks, but I’m sure. The landlord texted me yesterday to let me know they finished the…” I pause, swallowing hard as my mind scrambles for the right word, “... bathroom renovation. So I can move back in.”

“That was fast.” Somehow she seems upset over this efficiency. “Still, if you need more time…”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m a rational, adult human being, remember.” I lived alone in that apartment before and I can do it again. No big deal.

This brings out a genuine chuckle and I breathe out. Argument won. To emphasize it, I zip my small suitcase shut and put it on the floor with a resolute thump.

“Perhaps a bit too rational at times,” she teases, the smile still on her lips though there’s tension around her eyes. She knows me too well.

“Too rational? There’s no such thing.” To my surprise, this brings a genuine smile to my lips as well. Rationality is something we’ve argued about since I was five or so, and somewhere along the way, it had turned into affection.

“Promise you’ll call if you need us. We’re just an hour away, and the guest room is yours.”

“Of course I will,” I lie smoothly as we head to the door. There’s another argument about whether the moody spring weather warrants a scarf or not, but this one I let her win. Triumphantly, with sparkling eyes, she wraps the scarf around my neck, then wraps her arms around me.

“She was… I mean, I know she was…”

Don’t go there. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’tSayIt! 

Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything more, just tightens her arms around me until it gets hard to breathe. It’s oddly comforting, even if it brings a painful lump to my throat that drips down into my chest where it settles heavily. I nod stiffly against her shoulder.

“Take care, sweetie,” she whispers as I hug her back. Her hair smells like apples, sweet and happy, and is soft against my cheek. While the same midnight black as mine, hers flows to her waist, while mine is sharply and sensibly cut just over my shoulders.

“Always,” I answer as I let go and reach for the handle of my bag.

“I could walk you to the station…” She raises a hopeful eyebrow, but I shake my head, freeing my hair from the scarf.

“Thanks, but no. Responsible, capable adult, remember?”

She nods, adjusting my scarf one last time before I make it out the door and start walking to the nearest metro. I turn to wave just before I turn the corner, and she raises a hand, then closes the door. The square of warm light disappears, leaving the outside world cold and gray.

She means well, I know that. But it’s time to go back home.

The wheels of my bag keep getting stuck on the uneven pavement as if it were siding with her, trying to delay me. Muttering, I keep my eyes on the ground, avoiding the worst cracks on the way to the station. A distance I must have walked hundreds, even thousands of times as a child and teen.

The sign is bright and welcoming, drawing streams of tired people toward it, and I follow the crowds inside, beep my card, and without glancing at the boards, take the escalators to my platform. The bag has stopped resisting, its wheels rolling smoothly again. 

It’s early afternoon, so the platform is crowded, but not packed. Once on the train, I quickly head to one of the few unoccupied seats only to find that someone else has her sights set on it too.

I brace, stomach clenching, fingernails digging into my palms, words forming in my mind. I’m tired and prepared to fight for my chosen spot. But the woman takes one look at my face, meets my eyes, then quickly turns away. As she leaves for a different part of the car, I unclench and breathe out, the harsh words drifting away unspoken. I have sharp elbows and an even sharper tongue, and I’m not afraid to use them. Still, I’m glad there was no need for an argument.

After I shove the bag under my seat and lean back, the train picks up speed. Lights flicker past the windows, creating odd patterns and reflections in the glass. I close my eyes, the rhythmic movement of the train not as relaxing as usual, but I try my best to shut everything out. The smells of sweets, sweat, and perfume are somehow more invasive than the faint sounds from the people around me. I bury my face in the safety of the scarf. It smells like Mom. Like the home I left years ago.

Station names are called out by the mechanical but pleasant voice of the metro’s own robo-lady as the train slows down, stops, then speeds up again. When I open my eyes again, the car is only half full, and daylight is flooding through the windows. A cold knot in my stomach grows tighter for each minute, but I push it down, ignore it, stubbornly focusing on the view until the train descends into the darkness underground again. My mind flickers like the fluorescent lights in the tunnel.

The short walk from the station goes on autopilot. My feet know the way and are unbothered by the heaviness in my mind and chest. My knuckles whiten as I grip the handle of the bag so tight the plastic creaks in protest. The cold knot in my stomach is back, stubborn and relentless.

It’s fine. I’m okay. Everything is okay. I’m just coming home.

Alone.

Fingers fumble with the keys to open the door and they’re shaking when I push the yellow button for the third floor. Shaking as I smooth my hair down, correct the scarf. The lights flicker here too, sending sharp shadows across my pale face in the square old mirror.

The door pings open, leaving me face-to-face with my own door. Holding my breath, I open it and step inside.

I’m home. I’m home, and you’re not here.

Everything looks the same, but even the air has changed. The warm, flowery scent – your scent – is replaced with dust and an almost chemical smell. Probably something lingering from the… renovation. Out of habit, I take off my scarf, purse, and jacket, and hang them neatly in their places in the hallway. Push my shoes close to the wall.

Glancing at the door to the left – your room – I feel sick, stomach churning, so I wheel the bag forward, through the living room and into my bedroom. Unpacking everything, putting clean things in their place in the closet. Dirty things in a pile next to my small bag of toiletries, waiting to be put in the bathroom.

The bathroom.

I might as well get it over with, so I pick everything up and head over there, waiting outside the door with blood pulsing loudly in my ears. This is pathetic! 

I tug the door open and firmly step inside, dumping the laundry in the empty basket before I even register the changes. A new, sleek shower cabin has replaced the old tub. Dark-tainted glass works almost like a mirror, and for a moment I imagine a shape inside, the sound of running water, a soft voice singing a sappy pop song.

The shower might be all new and shiny, but my landlord hadn’t replaced all the tiles, so the floor still bears the marks of where the tub used to be. Deep and large enough for two girls to bathe together...

We’ll never try out the new shower together.

You’re not here.