Page 8 of The Moment Promised

“Adeline.” The bathroom door swings open, Finn’s hair is still tousled, but in a more organized way. He has some dried toothpaste in the corner of his mouth, my eyes zero in on the curve of his lips as they move.

I blink a few times, realizing they produced words. “What?”

“I said you have to start living life for yourself, Adeline, not your mom.”

It’s hard to concentrate when he looks at me so intensely. The gray comforter is a much easier place to look, so I focus on the fabric and the way it was weaved together.

“Ad.” He sighs, stepping right in front of me and kneeling so we are eye level. Damn it, my plan failed. “You got into FSU,” he says, like it was some big accomplishment. “You said you weregoing to take a gap year, but you haven’t even signed up for classes. When are you going to start your life?” He speaks with no judgement, just sympathy.

It’s sweet but infuriating all in one. “I have started my life.” My voice comes out harsher than I intend it to. “I have a job.”

“At Pete’s,” he says, like it justifies his point. “Did he even make you interview?” He sounds genuinely curious and doesn’t say it demeaning, but it still stings.

I didn’t interview. I’ve known Pete as long as I’ve known Finn. His restaurant has been a second home to us.

I don’t respond because my answer makes this conversation even more pathetic.

“Look, college isn’t all its jacked up to be without you there.” He runs a gentle finger through a strand of my hair, then neatly tucks it behind my ear.

I try to pull as much oxygen into my lungs as I can, but a much greater force sucks the air out of the room.

I try to focus on his eyes, but mine keep shifting to the pale pink of his lips. What would they look like after being pressed against mine? Would they swell into a deeper pink?

“I have to go.” I hate the way my voice comes out. So small, so fragile. Like a hint of rejection from Finn will sweep me up like a feather caught in the wind, only to drop me in a pile of trash.

Finn sighs, like I’m upset by the conversation.

Maybe I would be if I wasn’t thinking of ways to commit an exorcism. Because clearly, I’ve been possessed by a horny ghost last night.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers.

I refuse, needing relief from his presence immediately. Besides, it’s a short walk to my house. I just hope my mother is awake to let me in.

Reality sits heavy upon my chest.

Time to step back into the real world. One without pools of amber and bugs that tickle my insides.

I might drive this pencil right through my eye.

I don’t hold a pencil, but there’s a sharpened one laying innocently upon the pile of dishes with spoiled food on my kitchen counter.

I don’t know whether to be relieved or concerned that my front door was unlocked this whole time. I’ll get back to that one some other time.

There’s a smell coming from the living room, probably the couch cushions soaking up my mother’s urine. I pull urine filled air into my nostrils, expelling it as fast as possible. “Mom, I’m home.” I’d rather be anywhere but.

I continue my daily search for her. She’s not in the living room. I grab the bunched-up tissues covering the floor, right by the couch.

There’s a wet stain on the light blue fabric. Lovely, I get to scrub a couch today.

I glance out the window at our pool…just in case, then release a breath of relief because it’s empty, other than a brown palm frond floating on the surface. The patio surrounding the pool I once considered my safe space sinks into the ground. It cracks around the edges, as if one more rainfall will send it deeper into the earth like a sink hole.

My mom hasn’t worked in years. She was a small business owner of a local boutique, but she gave that up a few years ago. She doesn’t need to work. The inheritance she got from her parents was enough to keep her comfortable. They both died before I was born.

My mother kept the story of their love alive when I was a little girl. She didn’t read me books before bed. Instead, she told me about her mom and dad, and how strong their love was.

In the end, my grandma passed away from cancer. It was a long, brutal journey, but my grandpa stood by her side in sickness like he vowed. He died of a heart attack a week after her passing.

Sometimes I wonder if their love was a tale my mother made up to shelter me from reality. From what was happening to her. I wonder if she needed to tell the stories more than I needed to hear them.

---