Distance measured in time zones

Mom called right when I was getting ready for bed, which means it was breakfast time for them.

Distance measured in time zones

One of those conversations that starts with ‘how are you’ and somehow becomes forty-five minutes of catching up on everything and nothing - who got engaged, what Dad’s growing in the garden this year, whether my cousin’s actually going to law school or if that’s just what she’s telling everyone.

Jake heard me talking and quietly moved to the kitchen, gave me space without making a thing of it.

Phone on speaker, leaning in like she’s right there with me.

Put the phone on speaker so I could stretch out, really settle into the conversation. There’s something about hearing Mom’s voice fill the room that makes this apartment feel less like I’m twenty-nine and living my own life, more like I’m still her daughter calling home.

She asked if we’re coming for Labor Day weekend. Same question every few months, same careful way of not pushing but definitely hoping. I told her probably not - Jake’s got that work thing, I’ve got clients scheduled - but honestly? Part of me was already thinking about flight prices even as I said it.

Some nights you realize how far away home really is. Tonight’s one of those nights.