A Book Nerd's Guide to Falling in Love

Chapter 3: Forever was Full of It

When I was in my freshman year, I had always wondered about the etymology of the word home. I researched it, and it turned out to be of Dutch or German origin, heem or heim respectively, which meant the same thing--just home. Not so fascinating. It wasn't like record, which originated from a word that meant heart. Now, that was interesting.

Back before any technology was known to humankind, people recorded most things by memory. And the most important thoughts were taken to heart. So, record came from the Latin word cor or cord, which meant heart.

Despite not having an intriguing beginning like record, the word home was next to poetry. The warmth in its definition was comforting. I didn't exactly see a house, or a family, or my parents and their smiles every time I heard it; I simply knew it was a safe place where I needed to be at the end of each day to replenish myself for the next. Like food, home was a means for survival.

I guessed that was the reason why every time people arrived they announced it, like a celebration or as if telling everyone they were hungry and needed to eat. That was what I always felt as I pushed through the dark and heavy mahogany door.

"Mom, I'm home," I called when I entered through the front of our house--a modern farmhouse-style home. Clean white walls, family photos on shelves, and a traditional brown rug under a warm gray sofa welcomed me.

"In here," my mother's voice echoed through the hallway going to the kitchen.

I removed my shoes, chucked them in the coat closet, and put on my house slippers before heading into the kitchen, where I found my parents talking, sitting on stools at the kitchen island, glasses of wine in their hands. They were like a photograph of copper and champagne--east meets west.

"Are we celebrating something?" I asked, dropping my bag and the stack of books on the black granite counter.

My mother turned first, dark brown eyes welcoming me. "Depends on what you think about your dad's news." She tucked her black hair behind her ear and turned to her husband.

My father waved for me. "Come here and sit down," he said, gesturing at the open stool beside him. His smile deepened the crow's feet beside his gray eyes.

I felt a little nervous about whatever news I was about to receive. It reminded me of the time I was still in middle school. After the first semester of my first year, my parents told me we were moving from the big city of New York to the small town of Littleton, New Hampshire, where my father grew up.

I had been devastated to leave New York, but after meeting Lotty, I supposed it wasn't so bad. The comfort the public library had given me helped a lot, too. That was all the more reason to be devastated about its closure.

I sat beside my father and readied myself for the news. "Please, don't tell me we're moving," I begged.

My father chuckled. He shook his head, catching warm light over his pale cheeks dotted with age spots. "We're not moving. If anything, I think we're staying here permanently."

I blinked at him, confused.

"You know the company hasn't been doing great. I mean, it'll survive, but we're going through a downturn right now. And the management is cutting people," my father explained.

I noted how my father's hair had turned all silver in the last couple of years. His work was stressful. And I understood he was doing his best. "Are you getting cut, Dad?" I asked.

"Not exactly. I'm one of the lucky ones getting an early retirement package." My father grinned and raised his wine glass. "I looked at it, and it's not so bad. It's a good option rather than wait another year before I retire."