by Mia Mckenzie
When we go inside, we find Vicky in the parlor with Viva and Jason. She’s sitting by the front window, so I think she must have seen us kissing, but she doesn’t say anything. She looks happy to see us both.
I expect Faye to scold the kid for yelling at the cops but she doesn’t. She just grabs her and hugs her so tightly I think Vicky might pop. When she lets go, I grab the kid and hug her even tighter. I kiss her cheeks and the top of her head. Then we pass her back and forth between us, hugging and kissing her, until she gets annoyed and asks us to stop.
Epilogue
My flights from Jakarta are twenty-five hours long, not including a two-hour layover in Doha. By the time I touch down in Philly, I’m so tired that I’m not sure I can find my way off the plane. I drag my carry-on through the terminal, yawning every ten seconds, in a zombie-like stupor. All I can think about is sleep.
And then I see Vicky.
She’s standing just on the other side of the security exit, waving to me, bouncing up and down with excitement. My exhausted brain and body are suddenly flooded with energy and I do something I swore I’d never do again unless my life was in danger, and maybe not even then. I run. Like a character at the end of a movie, sprinting toward her love, if said character was a janky-ass runner.
I’ve talked to Vicky every week since I left Philly. I’ve called her from Bali, texted her from New Zealand, facetimed her from Indonesia. But seeing her now, in the flesh, is something else entirely. I have never seen such a perfect child. I throw my arms around her and squeeze and feel like the luckiest person in the world when she squeezes back.
“I missed you, kid.”
“Me, too,” she says.
I breathe in the slightly stinky scent of her and feel happy tears at the corners of my eyes. Viva was right. I am a crier.
“What’d you bring me?” she asks when I finally let her go.
“Lots. But you have to wait until we get to the B and B.”
She groans.
“Viva’s saving us some pastelillos from breakfast,” I tell her, and she’s all smiles again.
“Where’s Faye?” I ask, looking around for her.
“She’s waiting in the car,” Vicky says. “I wanted to come in by myself so I could see you first.”
In the two months since I’ve been away, Vicky has not completely warmed to the idea of Faye and me. We talk and text about it a lot, and she’s definitely getting there—she’s stopped using the phrase stole you from me, which is something, right?—but she’s taking her time about it, and Faye and I are both okay with that.
On our way to baggage claim, Vicky tells me we have to go visit Reverend Seymour after breakfast. She’s back home, continuing her steady recovery. “I promised I’d bring you over when you got back,” the kid says.
“Okay, but I’m definitely going to need a nap first.”
She looks at me like I’m being ridiculous. “You can’t nap on your first day home.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s a hundred things we have to talk about!”
“Like what?”
“Like, do you know Aunt Faye took me and Jaz to a bunch of rallies downtown? We protested police brutality and prisons and sexual assault.”
“Yes, I do know. You told me.”
“But did I tell you I learned how to disable a tear gas canister?”
“You did?” I ask, impressed.
“Yes! And I did a street medic training!” She’s literally bouncing up and down. “Activist club is gonna be so lit this year!”
It takes forever for the bags to start coming down the baggage carousel. While we wait, Vicky gives me details on her summer that I didn’t get during our short calls, including “Jaz broke up with her boyfriend and now she goes with this girl, Trina,” and “My stepsister dropped out of college and Charlotte is SO MAD,” and “My dad stopped working on our weekends. We went to a Phillies game last Saturday. It was boring.”
I listen with interest to every word, despite being only half awake.
My luggage finally appears and we stack it precariously on a pushcart and head for the exit.
A giant panoramic print of the Philadelphia skyline covers an entire wall on the way out. I’ve walked past it a hundred times and never cared. This time, I can’t help smiling at it as Vicky tells me how Slade came over and showed her how to fix a bike chain.
I’m happy to be in Philly. The people I love live here, and so do I.
To my mother, who worked on a novel at the dining room table while we played
Acknowledgments
In the course of my writing this book, my partner and I had our first child. My grandmother died. We had our second child. We left the city and moved to the country. My mother died. A pandemic swept the globe. Through it all, there was this book to finish. I could never have done it without the support of my parenting partner and best friend, CarmenLeah McKenzie-Ascencio. Thank you for loving me, in all the big and small ways. Thank you for bringing me lunch and café Cubanos, and entertaining the kids for extra hours so I could get more writing done. Thank you for continuing to choose me. Thank you for putting up with me.
To my mother-in-law, Margarita Ascencio, thank you for always being willing to babysit extra so I could work on this book. I can’t think of a better gift for a writing mom.
To Caitlin McKenna, the most perfect editor I could have hoped for, thank you for seeking me out and beginning this professional relationship, and also for the friendship that has followed.
To my friend Shaadi Devereaux, thank you for your always sharp analysis; Liliana Ortega, thank you for helping me get all the Spanish right; and my agent, Alexa Stark, thanks for many things but especially for calling me a “comedic genius.”
And to my babies, Story and Rio, thank you for always finding me funny. Your laughter is my favorite sound. You make my life the life I want.
By Mia McKenzie
The Summer We Got Free
Skye Falling
About the Author
Mia McKenzie is the award-winning author of The Summer We Got Free. She grew up in West Philly and still uses the word “jawn” every day. She now lives in Massachusetts with her family.
@miamckenzie
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.