Page 18 of The Darkest Parts of Me

The rest of our conversation naturally came back to my mom and me. Her eyes teared up once at the mention of my dad. But I wasn’t going there, not even with Val, and I love her like a mother. I haven’t even had the courage to have an in-depth conversation with my actual mom about my dad in a long time. Of course, we talk about him here and there, but nothing like a proper sit-down. Eventually, I told Val I needed to go home to unpack, so she let me go.

The sound of a bird singing in a nearby tree brings me back, so I reach for my phone on the nightstand and type out a message to Tasha.

Me: Guess who was still at my house when I got home last night?

Tasha: And that’s a bad thing because???

She doesn’t even need to guess.

Me: I don’t know. We don’t know him, so it’s weird.

Tasha: Well, I do! He’s a friend. Don’t you trust my judgment?

Me: Of course I do, but still.

A few minutes pass before she sends a response.

Tasha: Don’t take it so seriously. Relax. I do have a question though?

Me: What?

Tasha: Would you be opposed to something happening between you two?

Me: Please don’t play matchmaker. I beg of you.

Tash: When was the last time you went on a date?

I scoff.

Me: Spare me, please? My mom’s shenanigans are plenty. But okay, yeah, it’s been a little while, I guess.

Tash: Interesting. Well, we’ll see what happens…

I roll my eyes as I quickly type back.

Me: Don’t DOT DOT DOT me. Nothing. Is. Going. To. Happen.

Tasha: If you say so…

I toss my phone onto the bed and head downstairs where I find my mom already sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book with a cup of coffee nearby.

“Good morning, sleepy head!”

I rub my eyes, sitting in the chair next to her. “Morning. I didn’t mean to sleep in so late. How did you sleep?”

She lifts her mug, taking a long sip. “Pretty good. I got up early to go on a walk down the trail. It was nice.”

The trail is our own little spot behind the house that no tourists know about. It’s only about a mile long and leads to a quaint pond where I would skip rocks or make tiny boats out of bark and leaves to float across it when I was a kid.

“I’ll have to go down there soon.”

She nods. “You should.”

I stand, looking through the fridge for something to eat.

“What do you have going on today?” she asks, attention back to her book.

“I’ll probably stop by the bookshop again and then go on a walk through town, maybe check in on a few people. What about you?”

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