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Resting my head back in the chair, I stare around the back porch. I used to spend hours out here, working on projects, reading, drawing. Drawing was something I loved to do, but I stopped when I moved to the city.
It’s the coolest part of the house. Somewhere I feel like I can actually breathe. I take a long inhale, folding one leg over the other.
“What’s on for the weekend?” I ask once she’s returned.
The mug clips against the metal table, and the chair groans as she sits. She blows on the top of it for longer than necessary, before taking a tentative sip.
“There’s a rodeo on.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Great.”
“You should come,” she offers.
I finish my drink and stare at it for a moment, wishing it would miraculously refill. I twirl the straw around, and the ice clinks against the glass.
“What’s your plan, Josephine?” she eventually asks after sitting in an awkward silence for several minutes.
“It’s Josie, and I have no idea.”
She sighs again. This time, the silence stretches. I settle into my chair and watch the sky. The clouds drift slowly, with birds ducking and weaving, the sun unyielding, beating down on the dying grass paddocks.
“I might need to stay a while.” She glances at me. “I’m looking for a place, though. I won’t be a burden.”
Mum tsks. “We just got you back, Josephine. You’re not a burden.”
“Josie.”
“Hmm?” she asks.
“It’s Josie now,” I tell her. I’d dropped the name Josephine the moment I drove past the Fern Grove sign all those years ago. Hearing my full name on Mum’s lips makes me cringe. I’m not her anymore. I will never be her again.
“You’re my forever, Josie.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I exhale. As much as I longed to forgethim, the nickname he gave me ended up being the name I chose to go by. I’ve tried to convince myself it has nothing to do with him, but it’s a lie. I’ve always been a great liar.
Mum’s eyebrows draw together. “Josie. Sure. Okay. Why the name change?”
“I just needed something different.”
Mum chews her lip. For as long as I remember, that’s something she’s done when she’s thinking. She’s dressed in cut-off denim shorts she cut herself. Threads hang down her thighs. Her leather boots are covered in dust, thick charcoal grey socks peeking out. She really is beautiful. Not that she makes any effort to show it.
“How did you meet him?” she asks.
“Elliot?”
“Yes.”
Breathing out, I sink further into my chair and throw my legs out, crossing them at the ankles.
“I met him at a bar.”
“What was he like?” she questions.
My stomach churns just thinking about it. Slowly, I shift the glass in my hand, watching the ice melt.
“Charismatic. Strong-headed. Stubborn.” I laugh quietly. “Controlling.”
“Did you love him?”
