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o place the key back underneath the mat, I locked the door and breathed a sigh of relief. I’d made it into my house without anyone suspecting me, and I smiled when I shut the door behind me and leaned up against it.
“You should’ve used the back door.”
I jumped when I heard my mother’s voice waft from the kitchen, and I cursed underneath my breath before I closed my eyes. I knew I was cutting it close, and it was my fault I got lost in my own stupid memories while I was standing out in the driveway.
“Hey, mom,” I smiled weakly. I slowly padded down the hallway and stuck my head in the kitchen, and I saw my mother sitting there. If there was ever a woman that exuded country sophistication, it was her: back straight, shoulders rolled, hair neatly pinned, and her stud earrings she wore as part of her nightly appearance shone from her ears. Sure, the wrinkles of time and work had etched themselves into her skin, but her voice was light, her legs were always crossed at her ankles, and she always used her manners no matter the situation or person.
“Why don’t you come have some coffee?” she asked.
I watched as her body slowly rose from the chair. She placed her coffee cup down on the table, and I knew when she asked that question I really didn’t have a choice. That was the thing about my mother: she would always phrase commands in the form of a question to make herself appear unthreatening when really, she expected you to obey every word that poured forth from her lips. I never did figure out how to mock the grace and poise she had when I was a child, but my father always told me I wasn’t something to be harnessed.
“No, your father isn’t awake yet,” she said lightly.
I heard her pour the cup of coffee before a spoon began clanking around the ceramic. She padded back towards me, and she placed the cup down in front of me, and even though I sat back into the chair and tossed my wild hair back, she sat with her back straight and curled her delicate fingers around the jovially-colored mug.
“Where were you last night?” my mother asked.
“Went out with some friends after the rodeo,” I said before I brought the mug to my lips.
“When will I convince you I wasn’t born in a barn, Chelsea?”
I sighed into my mug and closed my eyes before the question that spewed forth from her lips graced my tired ear drums.
“Were you with Flynn?”
The mere mention of his name fluttered my heart and lurched my gut, and tears formed behind my closed eyes before I closed them and took a large swig of my coffee.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you have a productive… conversation?” she asked.
“Probably not the one you think I should’ve had,” I quipped.
“So, he still doesn’t know about Paris?”
I opened my eyes once I got my emotions under control, and I saw my mother shaking her head. My parents adored Flynn back in college, and my father always told me he was the one I was meant to be with. My mother thought he was the epitome of a southern gentleman, and my father knew he was the only one who wouldn’t try to tame the wild spirit that was my soul.
“He rides the buck. He don’t tame it,” my father always said.
And he was right. No matter what I did, I did with all the passion in the world and Flynn never once tried to stop that. He’d laugh and sometimes poke fun at my sincerity and passion, but he never tried to stop it or talk me out of it.
“You owe it to him to tell him, Chelsea. You broke that poor boy’s heart.” As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I know my mother was right.
“Yeah, and that’s all that seems to get brought up,” I murmured.
“Well, what else is there to say?” she asked.
“How about the fact that I hurt just as much when I walked away?”
“Then, why did you walk away?”
“Because Paris called and offered me my dream job, Mom!” I exclaimed. Why was she not able to understand that?
“And why did that require not telling Flynn?”
“Because I knew if he asked me to stay that I wouldn’t go!”
I felt my breath hitch in my throat before tears sprang to my eyes. I knew my mother meant well, but I’d never really talked about it with them. I never talked about how leaving Flynn that night really did alter me in some way, and how it altered the fashions I designed while I was working up the ranks in Paris. A little piece of him was in every design, and every fashion that went on a man I imagined on his body.
