With Love From, Tennessee (SLOW UPDATES)

Chapter 3: Counting Stars

J A M I E

My feet step up to the white, pine front door of my parents' house, my fingers still trembling with anxiety from my shit "reunion" with Presley. My lungs suck in the hot and humid summer air blowing all around me, wishing that its light breeze was enough to carry me away from this familiar home. Familiarity is supposed to bring you comfort, but the only solace I can find in this place is the sage-colored house standing behind the thicket of bushes surrounding the edges of my Mom and Dad's property.

Little green house on Huckleberry Drive.

My eyes cut to the small, two-bedroom cottage and I'm immediately filled with a sense of dread as I take in its boarded windows and overgrown grass. A small piece of me hoped that Presley and her parents still lived there, that maybe even with all the things that time had touched and changed, that their family home would still be sitting there, as full of life as ever. Deep down I know those are foolish thoughts because the only thing that time hasn't changed for me is the memories; those that are good and bad.

The door in front of me swings open, a burst of AC rushing against my sweat-dampened skin and pulling my attention away from the quaint, abandoned residence.

"Jamie!" My mother's voice cries out, raw and full of emotion. Her head meets against my chest, nuzzling into me as she takes me into a tight embrace. "Oh, my boy! I've missed you."

Naturally, my arms hug her back, smelling her jasmine and rose perfume as it invades my senses. "Hey, Momma," I finally hush back, smiling down on her as I allow my gaze to take in her aging appearance.

Her green eyes sparkle up to me as she takes in my appearance too. While I can recognize the woman beaming in front of me by the pink polish on her manicured fingers, and the vibrant essence of her personality, her greying hair and the prominent, fine lines of her face have me doing a double-take.

The sweet, southern draw in her voice invades my ears as she mentions, "You've gotten tall."

"And you've gotten short," I chuckle.

"Hey, now," she plays back, nudging me with her elbow and giggling, "You better mind yourself boy." Glancing up to me as the word leaves her mouth, she quickly corrects herself, "Well, you're not much of a boy anymore, now are ya? You've done some growing."

"Good gracious, Momma!" I start to tease, pretending to be offended by her statement, "Now you're just making me feel old."

"You wouldn't know what old was if it hit you in the face, Jamie," she fires back, swatting at me. "I'm the one withering away."

"Don't say that," I shake my head bashfully, trying my best not to interpret her words so literally because in an instant I'm beginning to realize just how much time has passed since I last saw her and my Dad. My thoughts take me back to my medical school graduation ceremony in 2009, but I don't let myself linger on the recollection for long before interrupting it by assuring, "You look good, Mom. You really do."

And I know I mean that as I take in her bright face, and unblemished skin, and the ironed curls hanging in her dark, ashy, and shoulder-length hair.

"By the way," I remember, cutting my eyes to the place that held my attention before she answered the door and motioning over to it with my thumb. "W-what happened to the Underwood's? They move or something?"

"Oh, the Underwood's," she sighs solemnly. "Sweetie, I have been meaning to tell you, but I just thought it'd be best to do it in person rather than over the phone-"

"What do you m-mean?" I cut her off quickly, afraid that I know exactly what she has to say before she even says it, but not wanting to believe it. "Do what in person?"