AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Of course. Can’t have my baby starving.”
I roll my eyes at her. Being an only child was great in some respects, but now that I’m older, my mother still treats me like I’m twelve. It makes living back at home inordinately worse.
“Are you going to get out of the house today?” she asks. Her attempt at an innocent question is as subtle as a freight train. She’s been pushing me to explore, to get to know the town a little more. She keeps telling me it’s changed a lot in the twenty years I’ve been gone. I’m not sure how that’s possible since it’s still a small town, where people gossip for sport.
“What would I do? Stroll down Main Street with Mrs. Holliday, gabbing about whose kid is a shithead?” I raise my eyebrow.
“If you did that, she’d be talking about you.” Mom’s eyebrow raise is even better than mine, and I can’t hold in the laugh that bursts from me. She’s got me there.
“Touché.”
Mom runs her hand through her shiny blonde bob that looks the same as when I was a kid. I got both my blue eyes and blond hair from her, but my facial features match my dad’s, to a T.
“I’m not trying to force you to love this town; I know that’s a losing battle. I just want you to get out of the house so you’ll stop thinking of this place as the dump you’ve made it in your head. There’s so much more to it, and if you want to do well at the clinic, you should keep your disdain to yourself.”
I sigh, knowing she’s right. It won’t do anyone any good if I let my anger bleed out into the clinic. Making enemies isn’t my goal here. I just need to focus on finding the right candidate to run the clinic, and then I can attempt to piece my life back together.
Mom and I finish our lunch without any more arguing, except when she slips Sadie some leftover pieces of lunch meat. Mom enjoys spoiling Sadie, to the point where I’m afraid she’s never going to want regular dog food again.
My phone rings as we clean up, and Mom shoos me to answer. She grabs our dishes, then heads inside with Sadie at her heels.
“Hey, Rebecca,” I answer, a little knot of hesitation setting up camp in my gut.
“Ben, I’m so glad I caught you.” The sound of the city in the background is loud, telling me she’s walking somewhere.
“What are you up to?”
“Heading to lunch. Listen, are you still planning on coming back next weekend?”
“Well, I actually need to talk to you about that.”
“So, that’s a no,” she says without any inflection. I can’t tell if she’s pissed off or okay with it.
“No, I’m not going to make it back next weekend. We can try for another day, or you could come here instead.”
“Hi! I’m so glad we got to do this!” Rebecca’s voice is far from the phone, so I’m guessing she made it to her lunch date. She continues to talk for a few minutes while I just sit here, waiting for her to remember she’s still on the phone with me. “Hang on a second. Ben, are you still there?”
“Yeah, still here,” I huff.
“I’m at lunch now. Can we talk again later?”
“Sure.” The phone goes dead without a response. There are moments when Rebecca’s life is moving one hundred miles an hour, and she only stops to give me a sliver of her time when it’s beneficial to her. I can understand, especially since I had a similar view of our relationship when I worked so much at the animal hospital. I always thought that if we got married, it would be easier because we’d live together; our lives would be fully entwined. But I’m not so sure anymore.
Coming home has given me a lot of time to think about my relationship with Rebecca. Over the last several months, it feels like she has been pulling away from me little by little. I know she’s busy with her life. She has a lot of responsibilities because her family is one of the more influential families in Greensboro. I just imagined she’d be a little more supportive of this upheaval.
But is it fair to ask her to give me more time just because I suddenly have an abundance of it to spend on her? I don’t know.
I guess we’ll figure it out eventually. Until then, I should probably start learning everything I can about how to run Dad’s clinic.
3
SARA
The cork comes out of the wine bottle with a satisfying pop. I dump the wine into the two glasses sitting on the bar, listening as a heated debate over romance books rages on. Tonight is book club night at Quinn Jackson’s house. She and her husband, Cooper, have a sweet basement with an oversized sectional, a projector screen, and a fully functional bar. It’s the perfect place to hang out.
I take the full wine glasses back to the couch, handing Quinn her glass before sitting in my chair again.
“I say the dirtier the better. Without the steam, how are you supposed to understand the deeper connection between the characters?” Natalie asks. Her cheeks are flushed, which isn’t a surprise. She has her red hair pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s wearing leggings and a long-sleeve shirt despite it feeling like a million degrees in the room. She’s still not quite comfortable with her burn scars after an arsonist tried to set fire to her house with her still in it.
