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Socks.
Pants.
Shirts.
What more do I need?
“Are you missing anything?” Mum’s on the other line of the phone—heckling me to check over my bags for yet another time.
God. Times were much easier when she used to do all the packing for me. I mean, times were much easier when I didn’t drive Delaney out of the country.
“Yes, Mum.” My voice is that of a low hum as I zip up my suitcase, refusing to open it again until I get to Houston.
There’s a silence through the phone as I place it by my door, waiting for her voice to return to the line. “So…” she begins. “When does your flight leave again?”
Things have been stressful between Mum and me since she completely snapped my head off after I confided in her about what happened with Delaney.
I don’t blame her, though.
I needed someone to yell at me—hell, the only reason I’ve mustered up enough courage to actually go to the U.S. is because of the boys’ so-called intervention. I knew I had to, but I needed someone to push me over the edge completely…kick my ass in gear.
“Nine tonight,” I answer. She’s asked this several times before and I know she’s just using this simple question as a way to make conversation. “I should land around seven AM your time. It’s a long flight,” I explain as I scour my bedroom in search of my passport.
It’s only four o’clock right now. I’m extremely early, given the airline said I can’t check in until three hours before. But it doesn't matter. I refuse to miss this flight.
It’s already been a few days longer than I’d hoped, considering getting a last-minute flight is almost virtually impossible. Besides, it doesn’t help that I can feel my heart breaking that much more as each second goes by without saying, “I’m sorry.”
“Things will be okay, Warren.” Mum’s voice is full of reassurance. It’s like she can feel my hurt despite the distance. “I promise you, alright?”
“But what if they aren’t?” I’m quick to put a damper on the conversation. A pessimist drowning in a pool of optimism. “What if this is all for nothing, huh?” My voice turns erratic now as I’m shuffling through the junk on my nightstand in a mad search for my passport. “What if she wants nothing to do with Crawfield anymore, Mum?”
I hear Mum suck in a breath. We’ve had this conversation far more times than I’d admit to—but it’s only because she’s the one person I can confide in to tell me how it is. The one person who, despite only seeing a slither of how I felt about Delaney, heard it all.
Mum wasn’t lying when she told Delaney that her name may have come up in conversation because it had several times.
Sure, at first, Mum got tired of me moaning about her “PR tactics,” but somewhere along the way, all that complaining turned into explaining. Explaining just how much this girl stumbled into my life (literally speaking), and completely flipped my world upside down—or maybe, just maybe, made it finally the right side up.
“Nothing to do with Crawfield.” She breaks me free from the thought. “Or nothing to do withyou?”
There’s that truth I was looking for. One that, no matter how blunt, possesses the power to cut me to my core.
Mum seemingly takes my silence as the only answer she needs. “Listen, Warren.” She speaks back up. “Even though I’m your mum, I don’t know the answers to everything. But I do know that you need to tell her how you feel. How you care about her. How much youlove her. And my darling, sometimes love is the only answer you need.”
I fall back onto my bed, giving up on my search for my passport for the time being and re-focusing my energy on this conversation. “I don’t know how to do that,” I admit sheepishly. “I don’t know how to tell someone that I love them.”
My first thought goes back to Ira. Back to that conversation Delaney and I had on the field. She told me he loved me. I told her I loved him. But still, it doesn’t matter because a part of me still beats myself up for saying it too late.
“Of course you do!” Mum wastes no time rebutting the thought. “You tell me you love me all the time, Warren.”
I shake my head, running my hand across my face. “It’s not the same! You’re my mum,” I explain. “It’s easy for me to tell you I love you…but for some reason, it’s impossible for anyone else.”
As if she’s bringing my thoughts to life, she speaks back up. “This is about Ira, isn’t it, Warren?”
Again, silence.
She releases a sigh. “Son, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you missed your opportunity with Ira, but now, you have another chance. You have anotherMatthewsyou can say it to. And this one…” her speech lingers. “This isthe one.”
A knock falling over my door saves me from having to respond to the scary reality her words possess. I know Delaney is the one—I’m just praying she stays that way and doesn’t become the one that I let slip through my grasp.
