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“No need. So?”
“I came for the quiet. Cameron loves to hear himself talk.”
“I think he does.”
A smile teases my lips, and she says, “You can always come over. The girls and I would love that. We wanted to give you a few days to settle in. Aren’t the first couple of days the toughest, though?”
How could she know what this feels like? I look toward her house, and she stands up. “It was nice seeing you, but my break is over.”
“Good luck with your story.”
“I enjoy watching the drama unfold. If I wasn’t so busy writing it, I would definitely eat popcorn while reading about all the idiotic things my characters do.”
She runs in the direction of her home. I remain a while longer. I have no problem with the solitary lifestyle, but maybe one of these days, I will actually visit Aurora. It’s more to prove to myself I am halfway functional. I can’t spend the rest of my life like this.
I take the path back and close myself in my room. My phone dings with a message from AA—I changed his contact info to that. It fits him better than Best Husband Ever.
Was that so hard?
He has no idea. And then he types some more. I know you’re trying.
No, I am not.
And you’re in full denial, but that’s part of the process.
What process?
He always gets to me. My synapses short-circuit when he pushes me.
I don’t want to ruin the surprise.
The biggest AA.
Two weeks ago, this place felt foreign, but with each day, it feels more and more like home. An email pops up on my screen. When I see it’s from my mother, hurt turns to curiosity. I click open and read it.
My dear, beautiful, strong, beloved daughter.
I miss you. I knock on your door, hoping to hear your voice because, in the last few years, it has been your voice that gives me the strength to keep on believing. Please, don’t hate me. I love you more than anything in this world. There never was and never will be anything I wouldn’t do for you.
I dab at the tears rolling down my face, knowing the lengths my parents have gone to for me.
Serena asks about you. Your father works even more, and I spend my days thinking. Thinking about you, thinking of how you’re doing.
How are you?
I love you.
I stare at the desktop, rereading the email until the image blurs with my tears. I pick up my phone, scrolling to her contact. A few moments later, my mother answers, and the comfort I feel blankets me like warm cotton.
“Mom.”
“Honey.”
We both cry, and she says, “If you tell me to pick you up right now, I will.”
She sounds so dejected, so utterly broken.
“I think it’s too late, Mom. But I’m all right.”
