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I’m a fucking coward.
I’ve spent the last twenty minutes looking at my mom’s new place. I was expecting her to be in a hotel, but nope, she’s in a whole-ass house. With a white picket fence, backyard, and garage. She’s even in a cul-de-sac, for Christ’s sake.
The houses here look just like the ones on the lakefront. I rarely venture to that part of town because I stick out like a sore thumb among white-collared bluebloods that live in their mansions. Most of them have lakefront houses that are even starting to invade the riverfront.
I’m really about to see my mom for the first time in ten years and meet a brother I didn’t know I had.
I could turn around right now and just leave, call Sally, and pick her up. She’d probably understand, but then I’d feel bad about wasting her time with a nearly three-hour drive.
She spent the whole time just listening to me vent my worries and frustrations. I don’t even know if half the stuff we talked about made sense, but she nodded along and added to the conversation when needed.
I’ll need to apologize when I see her again. That girl is so fucking confusing. One minute, she wouldn’t even look me in the eye while kicking me out of her house, and now she’s taking a three-hour car ride to meet my mom.
Granted, she’s not physically here with me. I dropped her off at a cafe near a park. I didn’t like leaving her alone in the city, but she was certain it was for the best.
I look down at my shark-tooth necklace and take a deep breath.
Stepping out of the car, I start to make my way to the door when it opens. My breath hitches when a middle-aged woman steps out.
She offers me a warm smile I barely remember ever seeing before stepping completely out of the house.
I’m so much taller than her now; it’s jarring. I was at her shoulders before she left, and now I’m a good head taller. We have the same hair color, a chestnut brown that lightens in the summer.
Somehow, she looks the same and different at the same time. Instantly, I can tell the woman in front of me is my mom, but everything about her feels lighter and warmer, like a cloud that’s floating by the sun.
“Oliver.” Her eyes turn red.
I don’t know how to approach this situation. Is there even a right way to greet your runaway mother?
I breathe out a sigh without any idea of how to start this, so I just say, “Hi.”
That simple word causes emotion to explode across her face. She attempts to reach out but stops and just wraps herself up in her arms.
“Mommy,” a high-pitched voice calls from the door.
I look past my mom as she turns to peer over her shoulder. There stands a little boy with sandy-blond hair, but I can tell he’s my brother. We look almost too much alike.
“Are you sad, Mommy?”
She turns and marches toward the door, leaning down and placing a kiss on his head. “Mommy’s not sad, sweetie. Go ahead and find Daddy. I’m sure he’s in the backyard.”
Not really sure what to do, I run my hands through my hair.
“Would you like to come inside?” she asks.
I nod, and we both walk inside. I’m hit with a clean citrus scent that floods my senses as we walk through the house—a stark difference from the shack that constantly smells of old wood, seawater, and old food.
Mom leads me into the living room and motions toward a gray leather couch. “Would you like a drink?”
Before I answer, she’s already walking toward the kitchen but stops just short of leaving me alone in the room.
Licking my suddenly chapped lips, I say, “Water is fine.”
She nods and disappears into the kitchen.
I look over the rest of the room. A full window fills the room with natural light. In front of the couch sits a redwood coffee table with four different candles in the center.
None of them are citrus, though.
