After more than 11 hours spent in planes and airports, I was finally back in my hometown. I wasted another good hour following the endless queues of the O’Hare terminal, as well as with the customs officers. My idea of bringing French sausages back to American soil pleased them very little, and despite my protests, I had to, with a heavy heart, leave them my precious merchandise.
Once through the last doors, I scanned the compact crowd behind the barriers to find the person I was looking for. When I saw her, I rushed in her direction. Her arms opened and I accepted the embrace, inhaling her familiar smell, which I had missed so much, I realized then.
“Did you have a good trip darling?”
“Yes, mom. It was long.”
“Come, let’s not hang around here, let’s go home.”
The house was my parents
