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What I actually need from him is … honestly, I don’t even know—love, recognition, support. The basic parental stuff that he should provide for free, but he’s never bothered to give.
I remember my drunken epiphany from last night about severing ties with my family, who don’t seem to give two shits about me. Could I really find a new family out there?
It seems impossible, but I’m willing to try and figure out my own future for once. There were so many things I wanted to be before college, but I couldn’t pursue them because of dear old Dad’s master plan for me.
Well, screw his plan. I’m done living for his expectations and approval. It’s time I figure out what I really want and go after it, no matter how scary or crazy it seems. I’ve got some thinking and soul-searching to do.
But what if the first order of business is heading to Kentbury to meet the grandmother who couldn’t bother to raise her son with some decent morals? If she’d instilled some basic human values in my father, maybe my life wouldn’t be such a mess.
I grab my to-do list and start making a plan:
1. Contact the realtor to sell the condo.
2. Pack everything I need in my car.
3. Go to Kentbury and get answers about Dad’s emotional constipation. (There has to be a reason why he’s soulless.)
4. Decide where to move next.
5. Find happiness.
I read it over three times. This is exactly how I’ll take control of my future. McKay Margaret McFolley is grabbing life by the horns from here on out. No more passively going with the flow. I’m charting my own course and won’t stop until I find the happiness I deserve.
With new determination, I start packing. Kentbury, get ready for a new McKay—one who doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks. I have some questions for Eugenia McFolley and won’t leave without answers. This trip is just the first step in taking charge of my destiny.
* * *
After speakingto the real estate agent, I hesitate, fingers drumming on the kitchen counter. I take a deep breath and decide to hold off on selling until I’m back from Kentbury. I pack light, tossing just a few essentials into my duffel bag, and set off early Monday morning and relax for the rest of Sunday.
The three hour drive stretches past four as I take the scenic route, windows rolled down and music turned up. My hair whips wildly in the autumn breeze as the winding roads lead me through a countryside painted in brilliant fall colors. Vibrant red maples and golden oaks line the route. With the crisp air on my face, I belt along to my nostalgic 2000s playlist—Britney, *NSYNC, and the Backstreet Boys. The sugary pop tunes take me back to childhood as the miles roll by under sun-dappled trees. I drum the beat on the steering wheel, lost for a moment in the past.
It’s so unfortunate that no matter how hard I try I can’t nail the choreography of “I Want You Back”—not like I could since I’m driving—but I still belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs since it’s my favorite song.
I quickly turn down the music and sit up straight when the GPS announces, “Take the next exit toward Kentbury.”
The last thing I want is to make a bad first impression on my grandmother and give her a reason to kick me out before I get the answers I came for. Whether she decides to leave her house to move in with her son … well, that’s none of my business anyway.
As I drive through the charming small town, I’m falling in love with the quaint storefronts and picturesque houses. A smile tugs at my lips when I pass the bakery with the punny name, Kneady Kentbury Bakes. The displays of fresh-baked goods in the window draw me in. Farther down the block, the cozy bookstore looks inviting too. Wreaths, pumpkins, and corn husks decorate the shops, getting me into the autumn spirit. The brilliant fall foliage contrasts beautifully with the décor. I wish my father had brought us here when I was little.
My stomach knots with anxiety as I wonder if coming here was a mistake. What if my grandmother turns out to be a horrible person? No, I tell myself, I’m only here for a couple days. I just need to get the information I came for.
My first stop is the bed and breakfast, where thankfully they had one room left. As I pull up to the stately Victorian house, the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafts through my open window, beckoning me inside.
“Good afternoon,” the woman behind the counter greets me with a warm smile. “You must be McKay.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise before I even get a chance to respond with, “Yes, that’s me. How did you know?”
“You’re the only guest checking in today,” she replies. “I’m Knightly Miller, but everyone calls me Lee. If you need anything during your stay, just let me know.”
I hand over my credit card and ID. Soon after, she passes me my room key and documents back. “Have a lovely stay.”
“Thank you,” I reply. I hesitate before asking, “Do you happen to know where the McFolley farm is located?”
Her smile fades as she frowns. “I had a feeling you might be related to Genie McFolley.”
Genie McFolley? I guess that’s short for Eugenia?
“Um, yes. She’s my grandmother,” I say, chewing my bottom lip anxiously.
