Page 11 of Embers in Our Past

Your mom wasn’t known for being subtle. Keep me posted on how it goes today. I’m around if you need me.

“Abigail, can you go inside and grab those blue napkins I left on the counter please? I think they’ll be here any minute.” She smiles at me, and I realize that even though my mom may have listened to all my cries over the phone when I called all those months ago, she didn’t really hear me. I truly think she feels I’m cured of all the heartache now that I’ve settled into a new routine.

Little does she know my heart is not up for grabs. Honestly, the longer I’m here in California, the more I realize what a mistake I’ve made. Today is the huge nudge I needed to make me understand I can’t stay here any longer.

It’s been weeks since I spoke to Clay the night of Samara and Ashton’s wedding. That entire text and phone conversation plays on repeat in my mind. What started as a playful conversation quickly escalated, but his words are on an endless loop in my mind.

I hear the doorbell ring, and I have to control the groan that wants to escape. I cannot believe I have to endure a lunch with my sleaze of an ex-boyfriend from high school. The cherry on top will be his witch of a sister, who I thought I’d never see again.

Maybe it won’t be that bad now that we are all adults, and it will be a nice change of pace after years of hell growing up.

This is bad. Let me rephrase:This is atrociously bad.

Edith is worse than she was in high school, if that’s even possible. She has not stopped talking about her upcoming nuptials and how lucky everyone is to be invited. Let me add that I am not invited, and she has not just hinted at this fact—she has told me to my face I am not getting an invitation. I can’t even express the relief.

My dad has kept his mouth shut, holding back a laugh when he sees me biting my tongue to keep from screaming profanities in Edith’s face. He knows how much this girl makes my skin crawl.

“So, Frederick, what are you doing for work now?” My mother has been trying to veer the conversation toward my ex-boyfriend the entire lunch, but his sister seems to love the spotlight. “Did Abigail tell you she’s doing web design work?”

“No, she didn’t. That’s amazing. I’m working as a financial manager downtown. It’s a solid gig. Maybe I could look at your portfolio. I think my company is looking into possibly doing some revamping of their site.” Freddy looks over at me and smiles.

He’s lost a lot of the boyish charm I was attracted to when we were teenagers, but he still has that attractive way about him as he inches closer to thirty. Unfortunately, my heart just isn’t in it like it would have been. We never did the long-distance thing when we graduated because we knew it wouldn’t last. He stayed back to attend college down in San Diego, and I got as far away from California as I could.

He wanted to try and work things out with the distance, but I knew it just wasn’t worth it. I think I knew I wouldn’t be back. Plus, it was just prolonging the inevitable breakup and heartache. Add to the fact he was always checking other girls out when we were together, I knew he’d have a wondering eye the moment I was on the other side of the country.

“Yeah, just let me know. I can definitely help out. I work remotely, so it’s easy for me to hop on a video call and share my screen and present from pretty much anywhere,” I explain.

“Nonsense. You can just meet up downtown and do everything in person,” my mom chimes in, and it feels like she’s my manager more than my mother right now.

“Actually, there’s been a change of plans recently, and I’m headed back to Boston. So, I won’t be as local as I have been lately,” I announce. My mother gasps, while my father covers his face with his palm as if he knows this is going to cause more of a headache for him with the blowback from my mother.

This is exactly what I did when I felt suffocated by my mom the first time, and I moved to Boston. I did this same thing when I was deciding what college I wanted to attend. I was between one close to home and a university in Boston. I almost chose the one here in my home state until my mom pushed me to my limits.

It feels like I’ve traveled back in time. I’m eighteen and announcing I’m moving yet again, however, this time I already know it’s a city I already know I love. My mother pushes too hard, and I push back. She doesn’t give me space, and I make huge decisions that lead to grandiose announcements like these.

I was feeling suffocated, and regret was clawing at me, so here I am, opening my mouth and letting this enormous life choice come out of me. But frankly, I think I knew this was bound to happen after Marissa spoke to me at lunch that day. After we talked, it slapped me in the face how miserable I was by being here in California. I really do miss the independence of Boston.

I loved that city, and I truly felt happy. The longer I’m here on the West Coast, the more the reality hits me that I want to be back in the comfort of that city and in that part of the country where I felt more at home. After this afternoon, my eyes are open, and that’s where I belong.

There are moments when my mom is kind and comforting. That’s how she was on the phone when I would call during my fertility struggles. She felt like a safe place. And when I first came back, that was the safe place she seemed to be. But the longer I’ve been here, she’s become more overbearing than safe. The way my mom made it appear she would welcome me and comfort me lasted much less than I thought it would. Maybe a part of me hoped she would be less smothering and more of a friend in my time of need. Instead, she fell into old habits.

She did provide the comfort I needed to mend for a brief moment in time, but then I got my own place, and she began meddling in ways I didn’t expect. It felt like high school all over again. She started to poke and prod here and there, inserting herself into my life in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Then, the stunt she pulled today… it just went too far.

I’m aware I could pick a whole new place in the country and start anew. But that sounds exhausting. I know living in Boston was a lot when I left over a year ago, but now, I think it’s time to try and go back. I’ve been discussing it in therapy, and even my doctor says it might be beneficial to try and see if things would improve. Running from my problems isn’t a solution, and I see that clearly now. When I brought up with my therapist what Marissa had said at lunch, she asked me to dive a little deeper, and I ended up confessing how much I was missing Boston itself. That’s when she helped me see moving back didn’t have to set off all the bad things I was associating with the city.

I think some familiarity could be good for me. I can go back to Boston unannounced and just start fresh in a sense. I have the financial means to get by comfortably, get myself out there, and just start living my life without my mother meddling in my personal life. I can also find a new therapist with the help of my current one in order to feel supported while I adapt to my new life. Until then, I could continue with virtual therapy appointments until I find one in Boston.

The rest of the lunch continues, the tension building between my mother and me with each passing second. Luckily, Edith is too self-involved to take a hint and continues to talk about her wedding, not giving her fiancé a chance to get a word in. She carries the rest of the conversation until she, her fiancé, and her brother head out the door. By then, even my mother is ushering them out, which is a nice change for me because I have been counting the minutes until this lunch would end.

The moment the front door closes, my mom scurries back into the kitchen and begins. “What do you mean you’re headed back to Boston, and why is this the first I’m hearing of this?”

I open my mouth to speak, but she continues, “And why would you let me have them come over if you were going to move back? Poor Frederick thought he had a chance with you, and you are moving back? I mean, that’s heartbreaking, Abigail.”

I stare at my mom for half a beat to ensure she’s done asking her questions.

“Abigail, answer me!”

“Oh, I can chime in now, can I?” I can’t help but feel like I’m back in tenth grade and being scolded by my mother.

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