“I smell floor wax every time I walk through those granite hallways at headquarters,” Brenda said, picking up her coat.

“I have three other family arrivals to process before ten.

Call my desk if their shuttle gets held up at the security gate.”

Brenda gathered her yellow legal pads, pulled her coat tight, and left me alone in the kitchen.

The room smelled of pine floor wax and cold black coffee.

On the small oak desk by the pantry was an unsigned check stub for twelve thousand dollars, tucked inside my father’s yellow ledger from his visit three weeks earlier.

At nine forty-seven, my phone vibrated four times against the laminate table.

The screen lit up with four text messages in a row, all from my mother’s number.

The first message confirmed that the airline had processed a full refund for two economy seats out of O’Hare.

The second message said Derek needed both parents at his business school orientation dinner in downtown Chicago.

The third message held the sentence I would remember for the next eight years.

“We believe you’ve spent far too many years chasing a military career that keeps you away from home.”

The fourth message came after a noticeable four-minute delay.

“Your father and I decided a three-hour ceremony in the sun isn’t worth two round-trip plane tickets.”