8
My mom opened the door, took one look at Ari and me, pulled us both into a fierce hug, and burst into tears. The last time she’d cried had been at our bubbe’s funeral four years ago.
“Shana? What’s happened?” Dad pounded down the stairs, skidding to a stop when he saw our huddled group. He threw his arms around all of us, saying, “Oh, thank God,” over and over again.
Rohan stood awkwardly in the foyer.
Dad opened his arms. “Come here, son.”
We all shuffled around to include Ro. Part of me wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this was, but most of me was too f*****g happy that we were enveloped in a cloud of Mom’s Chanel No. 5 with Dad’s graying stubble scratching my cheek.
Mom insisted on feeding us all, ordering a week’s worth of our favorite Chinese food.
Ari and I sat on either si
