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And he was my best friend.
I wished I knew how he felt about me. I wished I could read his mind.
This trip certainly wasn’t giving me any more clarity. He’d been supportive but distant. I could tell that there was something he wasn’t telling me. Ever since the wedding, something had been off between us.
It was probably my fault. We still hadn’t talked about what happened the night he’d brought me home. I’d been too embarrassed to bring it up, and he hadn’t either, which made me think I had every reason to be embarrassed.
Just thinking about it caused the sinking feeling I had in my stomach, because I was about to meet Cash’s mom, to sink even further.
“You’re sure that your mom’s not going to mind me coming with you? I can stay at a hotel.” I’d seen Santa’s Lodge as we drove through town. Family gatherings were a catch-22 with me. I loved being around the energy and observing people with large families like I’d always wanted, but I was always on the outside looking in. I never felt like I belonged.
Even with my brothers, I felt like an outsider. They had history together, a shared past. The only thing I shared with them was half of their DNA.
“Are you kidding me? You heard her, she’s ecstatic. Best birthday present ever, remember?”
Yeah, I had. And that only made me more nervous.
Part of the anxiety I was feeling was the fear of not living up to some sort of expectation that Cash’s mom had of what, or who, I would be like. So many people said that I looked exactly like, talked exactly like, and even had identical mannerisms of my mom, but I wasn’t her. I felt this unspoken pressure to live up to a ghost.
But there was another part of my nervousness that was anticipation over the prospect of talking to Cash’s mom about my mom. From what Cash had told me, our moms had been inseparable for close to fifteen years. People had told me stories about my mom, but I hadn’t spoken to anyone that was really close her, not like BFF level close.
Out of my brothers, Hank knew her best because he’d had the most time with her since he was thirteen when she died. But he didn’t talk about her. He didn’t talk about anything really, and the little he did say wasn’t directed toward me.
Other people had a lot to say, though. Miss Shaw told me that my mom’s hair always smelled like summer because her favorite shampoo was a citrus blend. The harbormaster Gunner “Stash” Jones told me that my mom loved the ocean and that he couldn’t count the number of sunrise walks she took on the beach by herself. Patty Smith who ran the ice cream shop downtown said that my mom’s eyes were always bigger than her stomach and that she would order a triple scoop but never finished her ice cream.
From the stories people told me, my mom was a free spirit who loved life. She was fun and possessed a magnetic personality that people were drawn to. My own memories of her were fuzzy, and half the time I didn’t know whether or not they were real or just what I’d made up in my own mind.
I’d thought that coming back to Firefly would have made everything seem clearer, but the opposite had happened. Everyone’s stories bled into my memories making them even more blurry than they were before.
By the time we pulled up to a curb in front of a gorgeous red brick ranch-style house, my leg was bouncing quickly as my heel tap, tap, tapped on the floorboard.
“It’s going to be okay. And if you feel uncomfortable, we can leave.” Cash cut the engine and reached over and placed his hand on my knee that was bouncing up and down.
I was sure his intent had been one of comfort and support, but that was not how my body interpreted the innocent contact. The heat of his touch cut through me faster than a hot knife through butter. Tingles spread through my body and I quivered at the overwhelming sensation.
My eyes shot to his and we stared at one another. Our gazes only locked for a second before he jerked his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove.
“Did you…what was…” I stumbled over my words trying to discover whether or not I was alone in the experience we’d just shared.
Before I managed to articulate my thoughts, I heard a loud crash and turned to see that the screen door had flung open and a woman came rushing out of the house. I blinked several times as I took in her appearance. Her hair was teased out and her bangs stood straight up. She wore bright pink leggings with blue leg warmers and a yellow oversized sweater that fell off one shoulder.
I wondered if Cash had got the date of the party wrong and it was actually today and was ’80s themed. I was mentally flipping through the clothes I’d brought to try and figure out if I’d brought anything I’d be able to wear.
“Dumplin’!” she yelled as her arms flew in the air.
“You ready?” Cash asked as I reached for the doorknob.
It made my heart swell that even though his mom was incoming, he was always looking out for me.
I nodded and we got out. Mrs. Malone rushed and launched herself into Cash’s arms. He hugged her back and as I looked on, I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. I’d always wanted to have that hug. A mother’s hug.
My grandmother wasn’t affectionate at all. I didn’t remember ever being hugged by her. My grandfather hugged me twice. Once when I dislocated my shoulder after falling off a horse and the medic had to put it back in. That time was actually more of a way to help me off the gurney that I’d had to sit on, but I still counted it.
And the other time was his eightieth birthday party after he’d indulged a little too much. I found him passed out in the high back leather chair that sat in the corner of his study. I woke him up and when he opened his eyes, he groggily wrapped his arms around me and said, “I love you, Sabrina.”
When I told him that I was Cheyenne, he’d pulled back, grumbled something incoherent, and called out for Milly, the house manager, to bring him another drink.
Cash stepped back from his mom and turned back toward me. “Mama, you remember Cheyenne.”
When she saw me, she gasped, and her hands flew over her mouth as she shook her head. The look in her eyes was one that I’d seen dozens of times since moving to Firefly Island. I knew that she wasn’t seeing me. She was seeing my mom. I’d learned it was best to wait for the shock to wear off before I spoke.
Cash moved closer to me, and I was appreciative of the support. “Mom.”
She ignored her son’s warning tone, reached out, and cupped my face in her hands. “You are the spitting image of her.”
Her eyes searched my face looking for someone I knew that she wasn’t going to find.
I smiled, hoping that I didn’t show the insecurities that her scrutiny caused. “Hi, thanks for having me.”
I don’t think she heard a word I said before she pulled me into her arms and I felt her crying against my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. It may not be the hug of a mom that I’d been craving, but I’d take it.
