A Summer Like No Other

Chapter 29 - Em

Nick parks on the other side of Claire Carter's house. He's stayed silent the entire drive to Jersey, as if he knew I needed time for myself. I played several scenarios in my mind: the hugging one, where all is good and well and she's happy to see me and she bursts into tears apologizing and telling me how much she's missed me and she has a perfect explanation for trying to sell me off, all the way to the I-don't-know-who-you-are scenario where she doesn't even care that I'm here, and the indifferent one.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Nick asks, caressing my hand with one finger. It's soothing and comforting and it needs to stop. I can't let myself get even more attached to him. Every moment we've been spending together, I've fallen harder and harder. I've fallen so hard I don't think I'll ever be able to get up again.

"I'm sure. Thanks again for driving," I reply. I didn't want to ask for the car, I didn't want to tell my parents where I was going.

"I'm here. I'm waiting for you right here and if you need anything, you know our sign, right?"

I smile. "I'm not going to moonwalk if I need help. That's ridiculous."

"Whatever." His lips turn into the most heartwarming smile I've ever seen. It's a smile that says "we're good together," it's a smile that says we could stay together, forever. But, what do I know? Maybe, I'm like all the other ones. Maybe I'm like Jen and I'm only falling for a smile he's used on them.

He leans in and I let myself believe for a second that everything is going to be fine: Nick is going to realize that we can make our relationship work and my birth mother is going to be happy to see me, she's going to invite me inside her house and we're going to have tea.

Why tea?

I don't know...in my mind, it looks like a good way to introduce ourselves.

I kiss Nick gently and then grab the bag I prepared especially for this visit from the backseat and head out to see my mother.

***

I can't believe I'm standing here. In front of her home. The streets end in a cul-de-sac with little kids playing with their parents. The houses are big, though not enormous-in-your-face big like Nick's or the one we can no longer afford.

They have nice porches with bunches of roses and welcome signs flowing in the wind.

This is too idyllic, this is too much.

I'm about to ring the doorbell when a kid rushes out the door and bumps into me.

"Sorry, ma'am," he says, and he looks to be about eight years old. He's missing a tooth and wearing a soccer jersey. His curly hair reminds me of mine and my heart stops. Then an older girl follows him outside. She's maybe twelve or something. She has the same locks but her eyes are bright blue and she has better skin than I had at that age. She frowns like she's annoyed at something but then her brother playfully nudges her and she smiles. She has braces and dimples.

They could be my siblings. If for some reason, she and her husband decided not to have me but then had them. I could be looking at my brother and sister or half-brother and half-sister.

"Who are you?" The little boy asks.

My lips form an "o" but no sound comes out. They're staring at me now.

A woman's voice calls from inside. "Wait for me!" And then mutters, "Where did I put my keys again. Shawna, did you see my keys?"

"No!" the girl replies, still looking at me. Even though we don't have the same eye color, I'm pretty sure we have the same shape: almond eyes, as Mom calls them. She grabs her brother's hand and shields him behind her. Like I'm a threat or something. My stomach crashes like a broken ballerina to my ankles.

The woman—their mother....my mother—steps out, holding a caddy bag with their family name on it. Carter. I'm at the right house. She's less than a foot away from me. The woman who gave birth to me is less than a foot away. I narrow my eyes. Do I look like her? She has a little scar on one cheek—where does it come from? And she's got dimples. I don't. But we have the same smile. At least I think so. Maybe, she remembers me. Granted, she's seen me at least once at that office party. I was only eight then but I'm her daughter, she should have my face imprinted in her memory.

Claire Carter clears her throat with no sign of recognition. "Hi, I'm sorry. We need to run." She pauses. "Are you selling raffle tickets? I've seen other high school students earlier today. I already bought some but maybe if you come back later, you can sell some to my husband." Her voice is warm.

"I'm not," I reply and I hate my voice for breaking, I hate my voice for showing my weakness to her. The little boy pulls on her shirt and she smiles at him.

It's a mother smile, the type of smile that says I love you and I'll always love you, the type of smile that says I can't believe you're a part of me. I've seen that smile before—even though my mother did not give birth to me, she still smiles at me like this. And my heart squeezes so tight I'm afraid I won't remember how to breathe.

Claire Carter—my birth mother—turns to me and then her eyes roam my face. I want her to have a moment of recognition, I want her to understand who I am, but I'm also afraid now of what it would do to her, to her children, to her life.

"Is everything okay?" she asks me.

And I do the only thing I can think of to make her understand without saying the words: my trembling fingers shuffle in my bag and I pull out the little baby blanket she had wrapped me with. The one with the ballerina dancer with a big smile and the words "future ballerina." The one reason why I started dancing so seriously, why I tried out for the School of Performing Arts, why I won't ever give up.

She gasps and takes a step back. She looks at everything but me. Her daughter seems to sense something's wrong because she also pulls on her mom's shirt.

"Mom!" the little boy whines. "I'm going to be late!"

Finally, she looks at me.

For a second.

Nothing more.

Her voice doesn't break like mine when she says, "I have no interest in whatever you're selling. No interest. At all. Don't come back." She squares her shoulders and hurries away from me like being in my mere presence is painful to her. The bag bounces on her shoulder as she pulls her two children with her, ignoring their questions.

She slams the car door behind her and her tires screech as she exits their driveway.

While I'm still standing here.

My broken heart bleeding at my feet.

Author's note:

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying getting to know Em & Nick! I'd love to hear from you, so don't hesitate to leave a comment. The full novella is already published/available on all e-retailers for only $0.99 in case you don't want to wait for the next chapter :) More information on www.elodienowodazkij.com :)