As the sun colours flowers | Paul McCartney - Beatles Fanfiction

45. Trying to catch fireflies

"All that we can hope for is to put
some order into ourselves."

― Willem De Kooning

***

I hunched over, picked up my favourite pants and rolled them up quickly. I looked around the room for any clothing item I might be forgetting, though it didn't help that the damn drapes were stuck close again, and the light wasn't nearly bright enough to differentiate between Paul's clothes and mine. I did not have the time or energy to keep circling the room over and over, but time was ticking.

I threw the pants in a large leather bag before rubbing my face. Damp streaks made my cheeks sticky and cold, and I pushed out a frustrated sigh. Lydia's words kept spinning in my head like a swarm of bees growing louder and louder, making it hard to focus on my packing.

Your mother's gone.

A shiver ran down my spine, and I grabbed my hairbrush from the dresser. It had been sudden, Lydia said. She'd suffered a stroke or a heart attack, something nothing could've prevented. I couldn't remember my friend's words exactly. A neighbour had found her outside, near the large tree in our backyard that my dad had loved so much. What used to be my backyard. Because I'd been running away from that place since the summer of 1965. And now, I had to go back. To that house that hadn't known a warm day since my dad passed, to that backyard where the tree still stood high and strong. One thing was sure, it wasn't home anymore.

So where was home?

"Let me at least come with you, love." Paul took a few careful steps toward me.

I was startled and turned to look at him as I placed a folded shirt into my bag. I'd almost forgotten he'd been standing by the door for the last ten minutes, unsure what to do or say. His scarf hung loosely around his neck, and his purple shirt looked all crumpled now that he'd removed his jacket. His lips were downturned into a frown, and he looked like he battled between giving me space and wrapping himself around me.

He'd followed me like that, uncertain and apprehensive since Lydia left half an hour ago. And I tried not to make anything of how worried he looked because it wasn't about me. I was perfectly fine. But I knew I had to go home. Despite the strained relationship I'd had with my family all my life, it was the right thing to do. And that was a harder pill to swallow.

"It's fine. I'm sorry about this shit timing," I said, the words so distant it seemed like someone else had muttered them.

Paul gave me a look as if he thought I might be going mad as he raked his fingers through his hair. "Baby, this isn't your fault."

"Oh, no. No, not my fault." I laughed breathlessly and shook my head as I pulled shirts from a pile on the dresser almost frantically. "For all I know, she might've planned this."

"Adaline, don't-"

"I can't believe I was this close to letting her back into my life, you know?" I shook my head, and my eyebrows furrowed as I rolled up a pink shirt and threw it in the bag full of clothes. "I'm sure she did it on purpose. She always loved making me feel guilty. I can't tell you how often I had to apologize for existing. If I got too much attention from men or... Well, it felt like I was a rival to her. Even when I was a kid."

I cleared my throat and shut my eyes briefly, the memories slicing through me like knives. It was as if the news of my mother passing suddenly brought back all the uneasy memories I'd buried for so long. And I wondered what had gotten into me for thinking it was a good idea to try to reconnect with her. I shouldn't have let anything change the decision I'd made long ago. Because now it seemed only to make it worse. A mix of hopelessness and bitterness that made my head hurt.