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It’s weird to see her face now that we don’t talk any more.
In the kitchen, Mom grabs her oven mitt and pulls a tray of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. She places it on the counter. “Don’t see how the two of you can give up on such a good long-term relationship so quickly.”
I sit down at the kitchen table, placing my purse on top of it. I have to be careful in how I broach this topic. “That’s the thing, Mom, it wasn’t going great.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t going great? If it was going badly, why did you stick around for so long?”
“It was insipid,” I say. “It was—”
“Don’t use big words,” Mom says.
“It seemed fine from the outside, but Braydon wanted me to stay home and didn’t seem to care what I wanted. And every time I told him I wanted a career, he would have a reason that it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t just the cheating,” I say, “but that part was bad enough.”
“Cheating,” my mother says irritably. “Cheating. That’s not a big deal. You shouldn’t let a good man go, just because he makes a mistake.”
She isn’t hearing me. Maybe because she doesn’t want to hear me. “Can I please stay here for the summer? Or just a couple of weeks until I can get a job and afford to pay rent.”
“You can stay for the summer,” she says. “As long as you help me out financially. I’ve been struggling for months, as you well know.” She puts cookies on a plate and places them in front of me.
“Thanks.” I take a bite, and they are deliciously sweet, even if I’m confused about how to feel right now. Always the same when we talk.
“I’m sure you won’t be here for that long anyway,” Mom says. “Braydon will come down here and get you. That’s the type of man he is, unlike your father.”
“He’s the type of man who cheats,” I say, “and that’s not the type of man I want for myself.”
“Then what do you want? To live in a backward town like this until your days are done? Wind up alone, baking cookies with nothing to look forward to?”
An awkward silence.
“Things are going to get better,” she adds. “You just wait until he comes for you. He’ll sweep you off your feet again. Besides, anything worth having is worth fighting for.”
I give her a small smile and put down the cookie. “I’ve got to get some stuff from the car.” There’s only one thing in the car, and that’s the box of letters. It feels right to take them out now that I’m “home.” It’s totally not because Cash is in town.
“Sure.” Mom moves out of the kitchen, leaving me with the cookies and a sense of unease.
I head out into the afternoon and grab the letters from my trunk before taking the old box up to my bedroom.
My bed is gone.
I blink rapidly.
There’s a sofa, a TV, and a few of my old posters—Garth Brooks and the Chicks—and pictures on the wall, but everything else that’s mine is gone. “Mom?”
“Yeah?” she shouts from downstairs.
“My bed?”
I can hear her footsteps on the stairs, and she peers past me as if she’s not even sure what happened to it. “Oh, right. I figured you’d never come back so I sold it. Turned your room into an entertainment space. Sofa’s comfy.” And then she shuffles off again. “I’ll get you a comforter and a couple of pillows.”
I can rough it. That’s fine. Not a problem. “Thanks,” I call.
But a wedge of emotion has seated itself in my throat. I stow the box of letters on the top shelf in my closet then shut the door and walk to the window. It looks out on Cash’s old house and gives me a view of his bedroom. The curtains are shut.
I sit down on the sofa and refuse to cry, pulling my phone out of my purse.
A notification from Marci puts a smile on my face.
MARCI
