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...
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I am in the best of moods when I awake the next morning.
I am fueled by the kind of happiness you believe only exists in novels and movies, full of soft smiles and giddiness and butterflies. It is the kind of happiness only Haven can spark within me, and I fully blame her for the way I dance around my room and hum to myself in a manner I would typically find embarrassing.
Haven had dropped me off at my house last night way after my curfew, due to the fact that we stayed out much longer than we should have once we left the dance. The two of us sat kissing in her car in my driveway until her mother had called, leaving us forced to reluctantly end the night. I had walked through the front door soaking wet, leaving all of my mother's questions unanswered besides a coy shrug and self-satisfied smile. Going to sleep, I had dreamt of dancing with Haven, and I awake recalling the feel of her lips on mine.
Mom is up by the time I enter the kitchen in search of something to eat. Her eyebrows raise as she takes note of my presence, smiling to herself as she witnesses my humming and bouncing on the balls of my feet as I pour cereal into a bowl.
Mom clears her throat as I take a seat at the kitchen island. I meet her gaze as she stares me down expectantly.
"So," she prompts, "want to fill me in on why you were so late getting home last night and why you were soaking wet?"
I shrug in response. "We got caught in the rain," I say dismissively, as if this offers any real explanation to my mother's prodding.
Mom chuckles to herself. "What? Did you two dance in the rain?"
The spoon in my grip freezes mid-air, just before entering my mouth. Mom's laughter turns genuine as she reads my stricken expression, as if finding my reaction to being caught amusing.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell anyone," Mom teases. I laugh in response to her taunting and return to eating my cereal, scrolling through apps on my phone absentmindedly.
I am aware of my mother's presence lingering about. She leans against the counter, sighing in a way that catches my attention. I eye her once more, meeting her stare and raising a brow, wordlessly directing my mother to share whatever is on her mind.
"What?" she questions after a much too long moment of us staring at one another in silence.
I drop my spoon into the bowl set before me. "You sighed," I point out, awaiting further explanation.
Mom furrows her eyebrows in what is meant to be a display of confusion but comes across as defensiveness. "I did not sigh."
"Uh, yeah," I argue. "You totally sighed. What's up?"
Mom shakes her head exasperatedly. "I did not sigh. I was just . . . heavily breathing."
I laugh as I make a face. "Yeah, that's what sighing is. Just tell me whatever you're thinking about."
