She Said: “Mom, You’re Turning 70. We Want To Celebrate You.” I Booked The Flight. Landed At LAX. THEN I REALIZED…

I texted too. Same message.

She read it. No reply. But I told myself she was busy.

She had two kids, a husband, a part-time job at a wellness center. I made excuses for her even then. The morning of the flight, I woke up at 4:00.

Couldn’t sleep. I made coffee, checked my suitcase one more time. I’d packed carefully: the dress, the shoes, a sweater in case it was cold.

A small wrapped box—Jessica’s favorite perfume, Chanel number five. I’d saved up for it. Also, a book for each of the kids—my grandchildren.

Ava was eight. Mason was six. I’d barely seen them since they were toddlers.

Video calls mostly. Brief ones. At the airport, I moved through security slowly, carefully.

Took off my shoes, my belt, watched younger people rush past with their laptops and impatience. At the gate, I sat near the window and watched planes taxi and lift. My phone buzzed once—a promotional email.

Not Jessica. The flight was smooth. I had a window seat.

Below, the desert gave way to mountains, then California’s patchwork valleys. I pressed my forehead to the plastic and thought about the party. Would there be a cake?

Would the grandkids remember me? Would Jessica have photos up—the old ones from when she was small? LAX was chaos.

I followed the signs to baggage claim, pulled my suitcase from the carousel, made my way to the arrivals area. It was 2:47 when I stepped outside. The California sun was different from Arizona’s.

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