Desire (wlw)

XXXVI.

Lea

As soon as Isabel climbed into the car and shut the door, her mom's expression shifted, and she held up her hand, signaling her to wait. "Isa, hold on a second. Come back inside for a minute," her mom said, her tone calm but firm.

Isabel gave me a puzzled glance before opening the door again. "I'll be right back," she said softly, stepping out and heading back toward the house.

I watched them disappear through the front door, leaning back in my seat as the engine idled. The minutes stretched out, my curiosity growing with each passing second. I fiddled with the radio, trying to keep myself distracted, but my mind wandered. What could they be talking about?

When Isabel finally came back outside, she was clutching something in her hand, her face unreadable. She slid back into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt.

"Everything okay?" I asked, turning toward her.

She nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, it's fine," she said with a small smile. "She just... gave me some gas money for the drive back."

I blinked, momentarily surprised, but then I smiled. "That's sweet of her."

Isabel chuckled softly, shaking her head. "She wouldn't take no for an answer. You know how she is."

I laughed lightly, as we started to back out of the driveway. "I'm starting to."

As Isabel pulled onto the road, I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. There was something tender about the way she folded the cash and tucked it into her bag, like it wasn't just money, but a reminder of her mom's care. It made me smile to myself.

The rhythm of the car gliding down the highway felt almost soothing as I stared out the window, watching the landscape blur into shades of green and gray. Isabel was at the wheel, her hand steady on it, the faint hum of music playing softly from the radio. I should've been relaxing, letting my mind drift after such an emotionally draining weekend, but instead, my thoughts were spinning like a broken record.

I kept replaying my dad's words from the funeral, his accusations, and the way he dismissed me so easily. The anger I felt then was still simmering, but now it was mixed with something else. Guilt. Doubt. A twisted knot of emotions I couldn't quite untangle.

I was almost certain my dad had already called my mom by now. He'd have wasted no time, I was sure of it. He'd paint me as reckless, ungrateful, and stubborn, twisting the story just enough to make me look like the bad guy. My mom had always tried to stay neutral between us, but I knew how persuasive my dad could be.

The thought of my mom being dragged into this made my chest ache. She didn't deserve to be caught in the middle of his harshness and my defiance. But at the same time, I needed her. I always had.

Growing up, my mom was the one person who could make me feel like I wasn't falling apart when my dad's words got too sharp. She was my calm in the storm, my grounding force. But these past few months, I'd barely had time to pick up the phone and talk to her. It wasn't fair to her—or to me.

I glanced over at Isabel, who seemed focused on the road ahead, her brows furrowed just slightly in concentration. She looked beautiful, even like this, and I felt a brief pang of guilt for being stuck in my head when I should've been savoring this quiet moment with her. But I couldn't shake the growing realization that I needed to sort out the mess with my family.

I took a deep breath, trying to push away the nerves. One thing was clear: I had to call my mom as soon as we got back. Not just to check in, but to actually talk—to tell her everything I'd been holding in and hear her advice. I didn't know how she'd respond, but I needed her perspective, her reassurance, her presence in my life again.