Written

Chapter 9

The kitchen is quiet as my mom leans against the counter, watching me slice peppers for the enchiladas I am about to make for dinner. My mother was never much of a cook, but she tried. When my father left and Ryan got sick, it was the one job I always truly enjoyed doing for her.
After I moved out, I could tell that Ryan's diet was suffering. I made it a point to come and cook them dinner as often as I could, and it benefitted all of us.

My mom's voice is quiet, controlled, as she speaks. "Are you going to leave?" She asks. My heart breaks.

"I don't know, mom," I tell her. I set down the knives in my hands and place my palms against the counter, bracing myself before I have to look up at her. She has tears in her eyes.

"You should, Hayley. You should go." Tears slide down her cheeks and I find myself fighting my own, something I have always done in her presence.

"Mom," I whisper, putting my arms around her.

"I'm sorry," she says into my shoulder. When she finally pulls away, she wipes her cheeks and smiles. "I'm so proud of you, baby. I'm always so proud of you. But you need to get out of here, you need to go. There is so much more out there for you."

"I think I might, mom. I think I might go." It is the first time I've said the words aloud, and the excitement that takes root in my stomach and spreads throughout my whole body almost throws me off balance.
I hadn't realized, until I said it out loud, how badly I wanted it to be true. I might go. I might go.

After dinner I fish Paul's business card out of my pocket and make my way back to the swing in the yard. With shaky hands, I dial his number.

"Miss Reid," he answers on the third ring.

"Hi," I say, suddenly feeling small.

"I take it you've considered my offer?"

"Yes," I answer. I take a deep breath before continuing. "I am still considering it, actually," I say.

"I would be concerned if you weren't. It takes a while to process something like that. I wouldn't want you to jump to a decision too quickly."

"Well that's why I'm calling actually," I say. "I need to know more about it, I need to know if it's something I would uproot my life for."

I can hear Paul's smile in his voice when he speaks. "There's a show about to start now, I take it you're not coming to this one." He seems to take my silence as agreement. "We're heading to Nashville tomorrow, if you want to meet me there? I can set aside some time."

"I think I can do that," I say. I've never been to Nashville, but I do have Sundays off, and meeting with Paul would be worth the drive.

"I'll let you know when and where," Paul says. "Thank you, Hayley. Really, thank you. I know it's a lot to take in, but thank you for considering it."

"You're welcome," I say. "Thank you for offering, I guess I never really said that yesterday," I laugh.

"It's understandable," Paul says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good show," I tell him before he hangs up.

Still sitting on the swing, my toes scrape the ground. I lean up a little and run my feet forward, kicking off the slow movement of the swing. Every time it comes back down, my feet find the ground and kick a little harder, a little more powerful. Soon I am swinging high enough that I don't need to kick anymore. Maybe, I think to myself, maybe this is what life is. You can let people push you your whole life, or you can get a running start and do it yourself. You will fly, but it is still necessary every once in a while to touch your feet to the ground, if only to ensure that it's still there for the moment when you will need to land.