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    Some guy in a Nvidia T-shirt practically runs me down to reach the escalator down to baggage claim before me. Classy. And typical. It makes me feel like I’m home! Chivalry is completely dead in the Valley and I do not miss that. Men in Philly grew up with proper mothers and manners! Men in the Valley grew up racing girls and tripping said girls when they passed them up.
    Brea stands at baggage claim with her two boys—I should say she’s trying to stand near baggage claim, but she’s actually running around chasing her little monkeys as they run through the airport like standing still would cause spontaneous human combustion.
    I stop for a moment and gaze over the balcony that hangs suspended over baggage claim. Sunlight streams in everywhere and illuminates the entire building. Brea seems older than when I left her—less put together, which is completely out of her character. I always thought she’d handle motherhood like a Real Housewife: In a clingy, barely-appropriate dress and heels, with a proper handbag slung over her elbow. Today, she’s wearing an army green skirt, a pale yellow tank top and black flats.
    Maybe it’s just a bad day. I run down the escalator and envelop her in a hug. “Brea! Oh my gosh, I’ve missed you!”
    We cling together for far too long and there’s something in her grip that feels desperate. Not the calm, cool, collected Brea that I left. The boys stop in their tracks to stare at this strange women hugging their mother. If they only knew how strange!
    Miles and Jonathan, in contrast to Brea’s tired look, could be two Gymboree models ready for their close-up. They’re wearing matching plaid, short-sleeve shirts, navy shorts and matching blue sandals, and she quickly takes them by their hands. They’re so much like twins; it’s unbelievable that one of them is adopted and the other, not. They could not appear more like brothers.
    Miles is the older of the two, and he was adopted. Jonathan is their birth child, not that Brea differentiates them at all, but it’s the reason they are three months apart. Which is physically impossible without an adoption. At least the last time I checked. But as my mother-in-law will tell you as often as you’re willing to listen, I’m not a mother.
    I kneel down. “Do you remember your Auntie Ashley?”
    The boys blink their wide eyes and stare at me as if I’m a serial killer.
    “I brought presents!”
    The boys toddle toward me like two little minions caught in an alien’s tractor beam. “What you get us?” Miles asks me. “My brudder likes twains.”
    “Well, I think your brother is going to be very happy then.”
    “Where our pwesents?” Jonathan stares up at me with huge, brown eyes, and I melt a little.
    “They’re in my luggage, sweetie. When this machine starts,” I say, pointing to the luggage carousel, “it will bring out my bright pink suitcase. Do you think you can help me find the pink suitcase?”
    Both boys walk to the edge of the crowd that has clustered tightly around the carousel.
    “Boys, don’t touch that belt. You might get your hands stuck.” Brea yanks the boys back by one shoulder each. “We can look with our eyes.”
    “Brea.” I narrow my eyes. “They’re fine, I’ve got them. Why don’t you go sit down for a minute?” I point at a bench near the Starbucks. It’s not like this is a crowded terminal. It’s enormous, open, and the only cluster of people is right around us.
    It’s hard to see Brea looking so haggard, she could be an extra on The Walking Dead . Brea was always the woman that troubles skirted. If there was one lonely house standing amidst a raging forest fire, it would have been Brea’s, and it’s disconcerting to see life hit her and take a toll.
    “I’m all right,” Brea says and hovers over the boys.
    “You’re really not. I can feel the anxiety coming off of you. Go sit down.”
    She glares at me and I glare right back.
    “My dog is still alive. I kept your boys