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“Well, I hope your children and grandchildren are already learning it because this is amazing.”
At that, her expression falls. She busies herself wiping down the counter, a sadness coming over her weathered features. I feel a pang of regret for bringing up what must be a sore subject.
An uncomfortable silence descends between us. I feel a twinge of sadness for this kind woman. Will I end up alone like her someday? My own family is so self-involved, I doubt they’ll ever care about me. And what if I never find someone who loves me? Is that what happened to this woman?
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” I mumble apologetically.
“Oh, just feeling nostalgic is all,” she replies with a delicate sigh. “My husband and I had always dreamed of having a big family, but after our first child I wasn’t able to have any more.”
I stare at her, unsure how to respond. Her words hit close to home, echoing my own worries about the future.
Clearly wanting to change the subject, she asks brightly, “What brings you here to Kentbury, dear?” As she speaks, she slips through the swinging door into the kitchen.
I follow with my eyes, as I gather my thoughts. Should I confess the real reason I’m here?
When she returns, she hands me a glass of water. “Here you are, dear, in case you’re thirsty.”
“You’re too kind, thank you,” I say sincerely, taking the glass. Since she opened up about her family, I decide to share a little too.
“I’m actually here because … well, I want to learn more about my past,” I explain hesitantly.
“Your past? Are you from Kentbury originally?” she asks.
“No. No, I’m not,” I answer quickly. Then I reconsider. “Well, I mean, not that I know of, but I think my father might’ve been born in this town. Though, I’ve never been here before, but after seeing how lovely it is, I do wish my parents had brought me as a child.”
“It is beautiful in the fall,” she agrees wistfully. “Though truthfully, it’s wonderful here all year round. I’m glad you decided to come connect with your roots, wherever they may lead.”
She gives me an encouraging smile. Despite the brief sadness earlier, her warmth and kindness bolsters me.
“Well, to be honest, my parents kind of sent me here originally,” I confess with a grimace. “But I didn’t really want to come for their reasons. I don’t think they have the best intentions, you know?”
The woman nods understandingly, her kind eyes encouraging me to continue.
I find myself opening up and telling her how over the past few days, I’ve come to realize my parents don’t seem to grasp the meaning of family. Not like what I’ve witnessed with my friends—the love, support, and kindness they share with their loved ones.
I let out an exasperated breath. “I mean, what kind of father fires his own daughter? He thinks I’m just going to find some rich guy who’ll marry me, and immediately start popping out babies.”
“What do you want?” the woman asks gently, her head tilted.
I chew my lip, considering the question. “Is it pathetic if I say I don’t really know?” I ask with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m almost thirty, and I’m just realizing now that working for my father was a dead-end job. It’s not that I don’t have ambitions, I just always assumed I’d move up in the company and become someone important within the organization.”
“You still have your whole life ahead of you, dear,” she says encouragingly, patting my hand. “There are always ways to work around any problem.”
I nod, feeling a bit more hopeful. “You’re right, I’ll figure it out. I just want to understand first why my dad is so heartless. Maybe it’s because his own parents were the same way?” I speculate with a sigh.
The woman chuckles and shakes her head. “You think it’s his parents’ fault?”
“I don’t know, I’m probably just grasping at straws,” I say with a frustrated sigh. “Did I even tell you what my dad wants me to do here?”
The woman shakes her head, brow furrowing. “No, you haven’t mentioned that yet.”
“He wants me to convince my estranged grandmother”—I lean closer and whisper—“to move to Boston so he can sell off her properties.”
She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Why didn’t he come himself if it’s so important?”
“Dad always sends me to do his dirty work,” I reply bitterly. “I’m the youngest of five. Everyone else has ‘more important’ things to do.”
I throw my hands up in exasperation. “But I really don’t want to uproot my grandma just so she can rot alone in some assisted living facility. I just want her to explain why my family is so dysfunctional. Then maybe I’ll head out west and find a place where I can belong.”
