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I went up to the front door and contemplated ringing the doorbell. It occurred to me that I had never rung the doorbell to my home in all my life. If I ring it now, they will know that I am not the girl who grew up here. They will know I am a fraud.
The door was unlocked—nobody locks their doors in Magnolia. So instead of ringing the bell, I simply opened the door and walked in, suddenly aware that I had not phoned home to tell them I was coming.
I stood in the entryway. The stairs to the right leading to the bedrooms, the living room to the left, the kitchen down the hallway ahead, nothing had changed. I felt oddly betrayed. I had changed so much in the eighteen months I had spent in New York. Weren’t they supposed to change with me?
My mom popped out from the kitchen.
“Ruby, is that you?
Good question, Mom. I was just asking myself the same thing.
She had a worried look on her face. She came down the hallway to me. “Is everything all right?”
I smiled. “Everything’s fine.”
She examined me with a creased forehead.
I let go of my suitcase and held out my arms. “Do I get a hug or a kiss?”
“Of course, dear.” Mom gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “What are you doing here?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but I had no answer.
“I thought you were in New York.”
“I was,” I said, like I was finally remembering the lines of a script I hadn’t properly prepared. “I wanted to come home for a visit.”
She still wore a look of concern on her face, and she passed the dish towel she was holding from one hand to the other nervously. “Oh.”
“Is that okay?”
She beamed. “Of course that’s okay. I’m happy to see you.”
“You don’t look happy.”
She gave me another hug, less squeeze this time. “Of course I’m happy to see you. Just surprised. Why didn’t you call?”
I didn’t have an answer for her. I thought to say, ‘because this is all a dream’ or ‘because none of this is real and I’m actually passed out on the subway on the way to Coney Island’. But I figured that wouldn’t make much sense, so I fumbled for an explanation. “Umm, I wanted to surprise you.”
She laughed. “Well you sure did, honey. You sure did. You’re just in time to help me with the cookies.” She took me by the arm and led me into the kitchen.
We baked cookies—well, Mom baked cookies and I did what I considered ‘help’, which consisted mostly of standing against the counter and saying, “looks good” and “smells good.”
“Now, when you get to be a mother,” she said, “you will notice that you have certain motherly powers.”
“Like baking cookies?”
She rocked her head from side to side. “Like baking cookies, but also like being able to tell when your daughter isn’t telling the truth or is holding something back.” She looked at me with a knowing grin. “Mothers are psychic, in a way.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what am I thinking?”
She feigned an exaggerated pensive frown, rubbed her chin, and said, “You’re thinking that there’s something you want to tell me, something about why you’ve come home. But also, you’re kind of nervous to say it because you think your old mother wouldn’t understand.”
“Hmm.”
She glanced at me with a smile and nodded. “Psychic, didn’t I tell you?”
My mother’s smile was infectious, always had been. I smiled back. She laughed, and I laughed along with her. I laughed so hard and without knowing why that after a moment I had to concentrate on stopping so I could catch my breath.
Mom pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and had me sit. She took the seat next to me. “I’m psychic, and I’m also a good listener.”
I put my hand on hers and gave it a gentle tap. “I know you are, Mom.”
“So.”
“So, I don’t know,” I said. “And that’s the truth. I don’t know about New York. I don’t know about the job. New York is great, don’t get me wrong. It’s exciting, and despite what people are always saying, New Yorkers are really nice people, overall.”
She nodded.
I continued. “And the job is great, too. But a modeling agency in New York City, those come and go. Seems like there’s one that goes under every year and a new one pops up hoping to make it. I don’t know if Handsome’s is going to be one of the few that actually lasts.” I let out a breath and leaned back in my chair.
“And?”
“And I don’t know.”
“And the guy?”
I cocked my head to the side and furrowed my brow. I hadn’t told her about Aiden.
She tapped a finger to her temple. “Psychic, remember?”
I looked back over my shoulder at the oven. Maybe the cookies were burning, and we’d have to attend to them. Maybe I wouldn’t have to open up and pour out all the contents of my confused mind. But no smoke came from the oven, only the sweet aroma of home.
