The Whole 9 Yards

When there was tequila rose in our fridge I would always sneak a glass. I’d fill my glass up with ice and pour an amount that’s “just right” — the sweet spot between my satisfaction and the bottle weighing the same. I’d take the glass to my room, and do whatever it was that kept me occupied at that time. College, work, friends.

Yesterday as I was scanning through the the aisles at our local BevMo, a sleek black bottle with a pink rose emblem caught my eye. It stood there like an old friend in the crowd. Tequila Rose. It’s not usually my choice of drink anymore, but this weekend feels special so I decided to bring it home with me.

Lately, I’ve felt a quiet pull toward home. I’ve been too busy with motherhood and work to let nostalgia truly settle in, and when longing tries to linger, it never gets the chance to stay. Maybe I haven’t been letting it stay. But tonight, I welcome it — and I’ll sit with it for a while.

The longer I live here in America, the more I feel the distance widen. With each passing year, I seem farther from my dad, my best friends, and somehow even from the dreams I once held close. It’s a little scary. I know I’ll never lose sight of home… but what if home loses sight of me?

As I am writing this, I am sipping on a glass of tequila rose. I don’t have to sneak anymore, and “just right” now only means whatever amount I please. Tequila rose tastes the same — creamy, sweet, familiar. Delicious as it always was, but newly delicate. A piece of the past. And tonight, it’s the closest I can get to home.