After experiencing a life-altering tragedy, Emersyn feels as if her world has collapsed. Attempting to accept her new reality, Emersyn wonders how she can possibly keep going when it feels like her life ended months ago. Until she meets Haven, and s...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mom is in the kitchen when I return home from school, tinkering with the oven. The aroma of berries and sugar wafts in the air, and I am only slightly surprised to find the counter decorated with an excessive number of pies. Mom has been baking religiously lately. She never did this before—she never partook in any form of cooking throughout the entire duration of my life. I wonder if she is only doing so now in an attempt to try to find ways to pass time now that she is alone in this big house all day. I wish that she had taken up another hobby, as my mother has never done much cooking for a reason—she totally sucks at it.
Mom glances over her shoulder excitedly upon taking note of my presence. I am already anticipating the hurl of questions that I know are about to be thrown my way, mentally preparing myself for an interrogation. "Hi, honey!" she exclaims, closing the oven and facing my direction as she removes the mitt on her hand. "How was school?"
I hesitate before responding. I'm not quite used to this–the genuine interest in me and my life that I can feel drifting from my mother now. She sounds like she really wants to know how my day went, as if she truly cares about the answer I will give. Her eyes are ablaze, her smile wide as she awaits my response. I can't remember the last time she seemed so . . . there. Really here. Like she is more than a ghost within her own body. Some color has returned to her cheeks. There is a warmth radiating around her that I haven't witnessed in so very long.
My typical reaction to her trying to form a relationship with me once again would be to shut her down, as I have been doing any time she puts in effort over the course of these last few months. Give a brief, one-word answer and disappear to my room to be alone. But–for whatever reason–I'm not in such a rush to do so at the moment. I don't feel as heavy as I have lately. I feel . . . lighter. Almost at ease. Almost . . . normal.
So instead of muttering under my breath and walking away, I shrug as I pull out a bar stool and take a seat across from where my mother stands. I try to ignore the way Mom raises her eyebrows discreetly at my actions, evidently pleasantly surprised.
"It went okay," I admit.
Mom nods understandingly. "Well, school is school. Are the people nice at least? The building looked very . . . clean."
I'm taken aback when I find my lips twitching upward into a smile. I can't help myself, I find Mom's latter statement amusing. I mean, is clean all she can think of to say?
Mom takes note of my upbeat mood, and soon she is smiling as well. I can't recall the last time we merely smiled together.
"Clean, Mom?" I question. Even more shocking, my words are followed with a round of laughter. Genuine laughter at something my mother has said–my mother, whom I haven't been able to get along with in ages. Making me laugh.
Things are changing between us, I can sense as much. I'm just not sure how to feel about it quite yet.
"What?" she retorts sheepishly. "It just looked . . . well, nicer than what we're used to, I suppose."
