Skylines, Suitcases + a Memorable Morning
Aspen
When I was a little girl, my mother and I had a weekend ritual. Every Saturday morning, we held tea parties in the quiet of our kitchen. Only, instead of tea, she’d drink coffee, and once I finished my cup, she’d pour a splash of her dark roast into mine just so I could feel like a grown-up. Saturday morning cartoons would play in the background, but I didn't care about the screen. I was just happy to be spending grown-up time with her.
Those mornings felt like a slow, easy exhale.
Now, when I wake up and the world is still, I find myself reaching for those memories, even though I’m waking up in a place that isn't exactly home. My mother is nowhere in sight, and the silence here is different. Weighty. Because down the hallway is my husband.
Despite my lifelong love for coffee, Luca prefers tea. Before the fallout—Aspen and Luca, Pre-War—we used to begin our mornings just like my mother and I did. Slow. Together. Ashared caffeine fix before the rest of the world was allowed to knock on the door. For a time, it felt like something sacred was handed down for us to share and now I don’t have that with either of them. Luca or my mom.
The actual move-in to his place was surprisingly uneventful. After leaving a patient’s house, I rolled my carry-on and a toiletry bag into his apartment like a traveler checking into a high-end hotel she never intended to book. I settled in quietly, marking my territory within the cold, modern silence of his massive floor plan, waiting for the next shoe to drop.
Everything was spotless. He’d hired a service to deep-clean the place before I arrived, a gesture of peace I was grudgingly grateful for. He’d even cleared out half of his walk-in closet for my things before retreating to the guest room.
I took a long shower to wash off the day, and we ate takeout like old friends—or at least like two people pretending the last few months hadn't happened. When it came time to turn in, he didn’t push or linger. He simply said goodnight, keeping his promise to be on his best behavior. It’s exactly what I asked for, yet, after a full week of this, his unwavering discipline is somehow more unsettling than his pursuit ever was.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, but I let it vibrate, opting instead to stare out at the Cinnamon Grove skyline. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the city at this hour from this height. It’s breathtaking. A quiet, silver-etched paradise carved out of Atlanta’s booming metropolis. For a second, looking at the view, it’s easy to forget that the world below is still moving.
Then my phone buzzes again.
Let’s get this over with.
“Hey, Bertha,” I say, bracing myself.
“Don’t you ‘Hey, Bertha’ me! This is not the time for games, Penny. You blurt out some nonsense about being married, then you dodge my calls and skip Baptism Sunday—”
“I always skip Baptism Sunday.”
“You know what I mean!”
“Mom. Take a breath for me, will you?”
“You take a breath!” she snaps back.
I actually do, though I pair it with a silent, frustrated kick at the air like a spoiled child. “Mom. Mother. Mommy. I’m sorry I broke it to you like that. I’m even more sorry it happened this way to begin with. I know you raised me better.”
I was hoping this would calm her down, hearing that she was right, but she just keeps going. “You got that right!” she snaps, and I can practically hear the slap of her hand hitting her hip through the phone.
I’m still trying to figure out how to weave the reality show into this mess without her having a literal stroke.
“But I’m a grown woman,” I continue, my voice gaining a steady edge. “I’m thirty-four years old, and I’m allowed to make a decision—even if that means marrying a man in Las Vegas—without you dreaming about it first.”
It’s a low blow, and I know it, but I have to be firm if she’s ever going to treat me like I’m capable of steering the ship of my own life. My brothers surrendered to her early on in life. They let her run their lives without a fight. She even planned my brother Morris’s entire wedding for him, and his wife just let her.
It stops with me. I won’t be compliant and my mother needs to let us live our lives without her input. Honestly, the thought of a traditional wedding never appealed to me because I knew she’d overtake the entire experience. I know she means well, but I need to break the hold she thinks she has on me. I need boundaries. I just hate that it took a surprise marriage to finally start setting them.
“Penny,” she says, her voice dropping into a tone that actually stings. “You’re scaring me. You’re starting to act like someone I don’t recognize.”
“Me neither, Mom,” I counter. “And maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.”
My mind drifts back to that night in Vegas. Walking beside Luca and not quite understanding who I was or what I was feeling. All I knew was that I liked the woman I was meeting for the first time just as much as Luca did. I wanted to spend the rest of the night finding out more about her. With him.
I feel a hauntingly similar spark of that woman right now.
“Mom, I’ve decided that this version of me—”
“Ya’ll and these new terms. Whatversionis it that we’re all being force-fed, now?” She asks, cutting me off.
