Welcome Home

The Texas heat hit her before the sun did. Esme stepped out of Austin-Bergstrom Airport and instantly regretted the black jeans. The air was thick and heavy, like someone had draped a hot, wet blanket over her shoulders. She pulled her suitcase toward a concrete pillar just outside the flow of people and dropped her backpack with a soft thud. She needed a second. A breath. Maybe a lifeline. With slightly shaking fingers, she opened her phone and hit the group call button. It rang twice before Maxime picked up, her blond curls pulled into a messy bun, a worried smile tugging at her lips. “Oh god, you’re alive. You didn’t get eaten by customs.” Jane popped into the frame a moment later, sitting on the floor with a mug in her lap. “Is it as weird as we imagined? Are people wearing cowboy hats?” “No cowboy hats yet,” Esme said, lips quirking. “But I did see a giant mural of a longhorn in the terminal. Very subtle.” “So? First impression?” Maxime asked, squinting. “Does America smell like cheese and guns?” Esme laughed under her breath. “It smells like… air-conditioning and anxiety.” Maxime and Jane both groaned sympathetically. Jane leaned in closer. “You doing okay? Really?” “I think so,” Esme said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s surreal. I’ve never been here. Never met most of these people. And now I’m supposed to call this home?” “You’re not alone, though,” Maxime said. “You’ve got you. That’s a pretty solid start.” “And us, virtually haunting you at all times,” Jane added. “We’ll call every day if we have to.” Esme smiled at the two familiar faces. Her chest hurt in that slow, aching way that came from love. “I already miss you both.” “We miss you too,” Maxime said gently. “But this is good. A reset. New place, new air. Space.” “And maybe,” Jane said with a grin, “a hot Texan man with actual emotional depth.” Esme snorted. “Highly unlikely.” “We’re coming to visit,” Maxime said. “Eventually. Once we figure out how to survive the heat and the portion sizes.” “I Googled Texas and found a list of venomous snakes,” Jane added. “It’s not helping.” Esme laughed, then drew in a breath. Her heart suddenly skipped — because there he was. Her father. Standing just outside the pickup zone. Sunglasses perched on his head. Cardboard coffee tray in one hand, like he was clinging to it for stability. Squinting at the road like it owed him something. “I gotta go,” she said softly. “He’s here.” “Deep breath,” Maxime murmured. “You’ve got this,” Jane added. “And if not, pretend you do. That’s practically the same thing.” Esme smiled — real, wobbly — and ended the call. Then she stepped forward into the Texas sun. When he turned and finally caught sight of her, his whole face lit up. “Mijn meisje,” he said, stepping forward and wrapping her in a hug that knocked the breath out of her. She held on a moment longer than she meant to. The car ride was easier than she expected — warm, comfortable. They hadn’t really talked like this in years. There had been quick phone calls, the occasional rushed weekend in Europe (mostly spent around other relatives), but nothing deep. He told her about the neighborhood, about Joel and Sarah — “He’s a good man. Keeps to himself, but helps when it counts.” He talked about Bill and Frank too, longtime friends from the area. He said he was glad she was finally here. That it meant more than she probably realized. Esme listened, watching the flat Texas landscape roll by for the first time in her life, and let herself feel it: something close to peace. As they pulled into the driveway, the smell of grilled meat hit her instantly — smoke, spices, something tangy. There were voices coming from the backyard already, laughter floating through the air. The house was smaller than she imagined, but cozy. Deep red brick, with ivy crawling along one side and a wide oak tree shading the porch. Some of her own furniture was here too. Her old desk. The chair from her childhood bedroom. Familiar things in an unfamiliar place. Tears threatened, but she held them back. “Well, welcome to my crib,” her father said with a smile. Esme blinked, then laughed. “You mean home.” The backyard was buzzing with life. String lights zig-zagged overhead. Folding chairs formed a loose circle near the grill. A cooler sat open, half-full of beers and soda. A tall man stood flipping meat with practiced ease, while two others — one with a shaved head and beard, the other in a button-down shirt — were in a heated debate about hot sauce. “Esme, come meet some folks,” her father called. She stepped forward. “This is Joel Miller. Joel, this is my daughter, Esme.” Joel shifted slightly, eyes moving over her. His expression was unreadable, posture guarded — but something in his gaze lingered. “Nice to meet you,” he said, voice low. Esme smiled, a small spark of electricity running through her body. “You too.”