Page 32 of Falling For Us Again

“Don’t push your luck,” she warned, but there was a gentleness to her words.

“There,” I said gently as I finished. “All done.”

“Thank you, Dylan.”

At that moment, the front door swung open, and my mother suddenly walked in. Jenna, alarmed, reached for her shirt, but I gently held her hand.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “My mom doesn’t bite.”

My mother stopped short, clearly surprised to see someone else in the living room with me.

“Dylan? Who is this?” She asked, walking over, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“A friend, Mom.”

When she saw Jenna, recognition flashed in her eyes, followed by an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“Hello, ma’am,” Jenna greeted her, her voice tentative.

My mother responded with a curt nod before turning her attention back to me. “How do you know her?”

“From school, Mom. We’re friends,” I explained, wondering at her coldness. “I wanted to help her.”

Her gaze fell on Jenna’s bruised arms, and for a brief moment, genuine concern crossed her face before being replaced by another emotion I couldn't place. Jenna grabbed her shirt and it hurriedly put it on.

“I was just about to leave.”

As we walk out the front door she said softly, “I don’t think your mom likes me much.”

“That’s not true,” I assured her unconvincingly. “She was just caught off guard seeing a girl in the house.”

Jenna shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I know so,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

But later that night, my mother told me never to bring Jenna back to the house and warned me to stop being friends with her. She never gave a reason; she just insisted that she didn’t like her.

It made me wonder what it was about a fifteen-year-old girl suffering from domestic abuse, which everyone else in town knew about and just turned a blind eye to, that my mother found so objectionable. It seemed deeply unfair and spineless.

That was the first time my mother threatened to send me back to London.

Kim’s laughter cut through my reminiscing, her sweet, innocent sound bringing me back to the present.

"Push me higher, Nana!" Kim squeals, her small hands gripping the ropes tightly.

I lean against the porch railing, the smooth wood cool against my palms, watching my mother gently push Kim on the swing.The old swing set, one of the few relics from my and my sister’s childhood, creaks softly with each movement.

My mother stands behind the swing, her posture straight and dignified, even in this simple act of play. She pushes Kim with a careful, measured rhythm, her hands steady and sure. Each time Kim swings forward, her giggles grow louder, and my mother’s lips curl into a rare, genuine smile. The sight tugs at something deep inside me.

“Higher Nana higher!”

"Hold on tight, sweetheart," my mother replies, her voice soft and filled with affection. She gives the swing a slightly stronger push, and Kim soars higher, her laughter ringing out like a bell.

I can’t help but smile at the scene, despite the heavy thoughts weighing on my mind. My mother has always been a formidable woman, strong-willed, and opinionated. Seeing her in this light, so tender and caring with Kim, reminds me of the rare moments of warmth she showed when I was a child. Moments that seemed to vanish as I grew older, and our relationship became more strained.

Kim’s dark curls bounce with each swing, her eyes bright and filled with pure joy. She kicks her legs out, pretending to touch the sky, and my mother chuckles softly. I love seeing her happy like this.

My thoughts drift back to the conversation we had earlier. My mother’s thinly veiled disdain for Jenna still lingers in my mind, a bitter subject that has always been a reason for the distance between us.

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