Page 53 of Falling For Us Again

I confess to Lola about the unsettling memory I had earlier. The one that left me shaken, the one I still can’t make sense of.

“I don’t know what it means,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if it’s real. But it felt like it could be an important piece of information.”

Lola unlocks the door, glancing at me over her shoulder, her expression serious.

“Maybe that’s the reason why you have no memory of how your mother died,” She says, “Maybe you know what happened, and your mind has been blocking it out because of trauma.”

My stomach twists at her words and a lump form in my throat. I’ve been thinking the same thing all weekend. There’s a reason my father refused to discuss anything about her death.

We step inside the studio, the smell of paint and canvas filling the air. Lola heads over to her easel, but her eyes stay on me, waiting for me to respond.

“Yes, I’m scared it has something to do with her death,” I say, the words tumbling out faster than usual, my chest tightening as I speak. “That there’s something I’ve forgotten, something I need to remember.”

“Why can’t I remember Lola?”

Lola’s eyes soften, and she sets down the brush. “Jenna,” she says gently, crossing the room to sit beside me. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll come over, and we can go through your mom’s things together. Maybe there’s something in her room that’ll help you make sense of it all.”

I swallow hard at the thought of pushing through my fear and grief by entering Mom’s room. But I know I need to.

“You’re right, this is something that needs to be done and I’m going to need your help.”

We sit in silence for a moment, before Lola nudges me with her elbow. “Speaking of difficult subjects... what’s going on with you and Dylan?”

The question catches me off guard. I’ve been trying not to think about him lately as hard as it is.

I shrug, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t even try it. I saw the jealousy in your eyes when you thought Kim was his child and I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

I laugh, though it comes out more like a sigh. “Well, we’ve been... sleeping together,” I admit, my cheeks flushing. “But I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if it means anything. I’m leaving soon, and once I go, he’ll probably get back to hating me again.”

Lola arches an eyebrow. “You think he’ll hate you?”

I nod, biting my lip. “He did before. And I can’t blame him. He’s not the kind of guy who just forgets something like that.”

Lola studies me for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “People change, Jenna. You’ve both changed. Maybe this time will be different.”

I find myself pondering her words for a moment. The truth is, I don’t know if Dylan and I can ever go back to what we were, or if we even should. There’s been so much pain and bitterness between us.

But there’s also been something more. A pull, a connection that hasn’t faded with time no matter how much I’ve tried to ignore it. And that scares me more than anything.

Before I can dwell on it, Lola changes the subject, her face lighting up with excitement. “Oh, by the way, did I tell you about the high school reunion?”

I groan, slumping back in my chair. “Please, God no.”

She laughs, throwing a crumpled piece of paper at me. “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s this weekend. You have to come.”

I shake my head, recoiling at the thought. “Fun? Lola, I don’t think I could imagine a worse way to spend my weekend than reliving the most awkward years of my life.”

Lola pouts, but I can tell she’s not giving up that easily. “You’re coming,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.”

“It’ll be good for you. Besides, you wouldn’t let your best high school friend go all alone, would you? Please, please, please.” She bats her eyelashes at me.

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling at her persistence. Lola has always been the optimist, always looking for the bright side even when there doesn’t seem to be one.

Maybe that’s what I need right now—someone to remind me that not everything is as bleak as it seems.

“Fine,” I say, sighing dramatically. “I’ll think about it.”

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