Page 17 of Love is a Game

I fight back a rising wave of nausea. This is exactly what I don’t want. Questions, decisions, working out how to even be here in this town I’ve avoided for so long. The closer we get to Mom’s street, the more I feel like I’m being filled with wet sand, my limbs heavy, my chest tight, struggling for breath.

Maybe it will be strange in the house without Mom…but the thought of staying with Tuck and his parents doesn’t appeal either. Smothered in his parents’ sympathies, and lying in the guest room with Tuck just across the hall, would be too weird.

I mean, back when we shared an apartment, we ended up in each other’s beds more times than I can count—but Brady and Mason were clueless. And Tuck’s parents? They thought our so-called study sessions and all those hours spent curating epic playlists were totally innocent. Adorable.

“Pen—here!” Tuck exclaims, snapping me back. “You nearly missed it.”

“I know my way,” I say a little too sharply, making the turn.

The Hasting’s house comes first—the same old boat and rust-speckled trailer parked on the gravel, fishing gear spilling out of the back. Next is the Greer place. They’ve added a shiny new extension with big windows that really don’t match the old brick. Then the Murphy house—their youngest, with his unmistakable carrot-top, was just a kid the last time I was here. Now he’s a teenager kicking a soccer ball against the garage door.

Tuck’s family house. Tall and familiar, a double-story with white siding and a sprawling oak tree that still shades the window of his old bedroom. And…there. Right next door, Mom’s smaller brick cottage feels rooted in time.

Its sturdy exterior is weathered, the shutters in need of a fresh coat of paint. But the garden is thriving, with tall, lush lavender swaying in the breeze and hydrangeas so full they almost obscure the path to the front door.

My throat tightens as I pull into the driveway.

For a moment, I just take it in. This isn’t just a house—it’s a time capsule of my childhood. And now…all that remains of my mom’s life.

I kill the ignition, but neither of us move.

I feel Tuck’s eyes on me. But I’m numb. Unblinking, immobile.

“They’re here!” Susan’s voice carries from next door, filled with restrained excitement.

Releasing my seatbelt, I try to gather the momentum to exit the vehicle as Tuck’s parents appear. Older, softer versions of who I remember, as if faded from the natural elements, just like Mom’s house.

Keith’s swept-back, sandy hair is tinged with gray, his blue eyes crinkled with lines that suit his academic air. Susan’s conservative bob is now a gray pixie cut, and she’s wearing red-framed glasses. She wraps me in her generous softness.

“Penelope.” She squeezes tight, and I tense, scared my emotions might spill out like stuffing out of a child’s overloved toy. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss, sweetie.”

I step back only to get folded into Keith’s arms. “Darlin’, we’re here for you, anything you need, you know that—” I nod against his shoulder, on the precipice of losing my composure.

He releases me, and I finger the band on my wrist, swallowing hard against the destabilizing forces surging inside me, threatening to escape.

Tuck is unloading the luggage. Right here in Mom’s driveway—in the spot where her sky-blue Toyota Camry should be parked. Instead, its crumpled remains are up the road at Mountain Power Wrecking Yard. And my mom’s crumpled body…stored in a chiller at Lakeside Funeral Home.

I shiver despite the warm spring air swirling the treetops. Even here, in the heart of town with its neat grid of streets and clustered homes, the earthy scent of tilled fields and the sharp tang of pine from the forest seep in, mingling with the faint, cool breath of the expansive lake nearby.

Keith steps away to help Tuck, and I catch the flash of joy in Susan’s eyes. Her beloved son is home, and it’s obvious how much it means to her.

And I can’t help the rancid, bitter jealousy welling to the surface of my skin. That look of love, pride, and pure happiness is something I never saw pass my mother’s face.

It makes me impatient to escape. To let them have their reunion, untainted by sympathy for my dead mother, and without my ugly thoughts polluting the atmosphere.

A small standoff brews. I can hear Tuck’s low voice as he counters Keith’s insistence on carrying my things next door. After a pause, Keith relents, following Tuck to the porch to stack the bags by the door.

I move forward. Step into the overhang of the house, reach my fingertips into the hollow of a loose brick. Then I strike it—the cool metallic texture. Still there after all.

Removing the key, I approach the door. A practiced wiggle and tug, and suddenly I’m looking into the bare bones of my early life—one I’ve tried so hard to plaster over and remodel in my mind.

“Pen?” Tuck’s reassuring hand presses against my shoulder.

“I’ll be okay—go catch up with your parents,” I insist, despite the resistance in his eyes. “Please, Tuck.”

It takes a long moment but finally, he agrees.

And then I’m alone, the silence of the house engulfing me, prickling my skin. Everything here speaks of her.Butshe’s gone.

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