Page 6 of Reckless and Rooted
“Well.” She side-eyes my dad. “Still. Don’t say that about your daughter’s work.”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
I sigh, hating that my pancakes are cold, but judging by the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach, it is probably a good thing. “I was hardly doing any of the writing on my last album. I had to learn the songs because I wrote only two, and eventhose got redone so much. They didn’t hardly resemble anything I started with.”
“Okay.” Mom starts, rolling her shoulders back and looking me in the eye. Her planning-an-attack face is on and almost makes me smile. “You’ll stay here then, in town. For as long as you need. Your dad and I are more than happy to have you, and the town will be thrilled, but probably a bit much at first. Then, in a few weeks, once you’ve had a nice break, we’ll talk career.”
I was thirty years old. And my mama was about to make me cry.
“Thanks, Mom.”
The local school houses both the middle schoolers and high schoolers, given how small our town is.
The big brown building is the same as it has always been, with maybe some improvements to the paint. The outside of the building has nice landscaping, and whoever keeps up with it does a nice job, but the moment I step into the halls, it is like a time warp has happened.
The lockers are the same colors, the hallway floors have the same markings, and the walls are the same colors. And maybe it sounds weird, but it still smells the same.
It is strange following my mom down the empty hallways, my leggings and oversized shirt on and my long blonde hair thrown up in a bun. It is like jumping back fourteen years when I used to come here and help her every summer, right before school started.
I look at some of the posters on the walls and smile when I see one I did when I was seventeen. It is lyrics I wrote on a bright pink poster board with stars all around it.
“I insisted they keep it up,” Mom says, smiling when she sees I’ve stopped. “It’s nice to have a little piece of you with me every day.”
I blink back the burning in my eyes, smiling over at my mom before we move down the hall.
“Here we are!” Mom says, grasping the handle of the classroom I knew all too well and moving into the room.
Taking a deep breath, I move into it behind her, memories dowsing me with every step—coming in early to see Mom, helping her set up certain classroom activities, and sneaking into this classroom after prom with Jax.
I blink at that memory, hoping to erase it from my mind and take in the blank room. “Why did you take everything down before summer?”
Mom shrugs and looks around the room. “I don’t know. I guess I like having a blank slate when I get here. Plus, they could always move me or fire me.”
I give her a bland look, smiling when she waves her hand at me. “I highly doubt they would ever get rid of you. It’s not like you’ve had this same classroom for what, twenty years?”
“Twenty-two.”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
For the next few hours, I help my mom hang up every poster, organize all her supplies, and get her ready for the year. We chat as we work, and I try to keep everything surface level, talking about memories and how she’s been doing for the last twelve years since I’ve lived away from home.
I missed home so much that each second I’m here, I feel myself moving right back into the routine. I absolutely love everything about this town—the smells, the people, the businesses, and the way everyone helps each other as if we are one big happy family.
Being in a town that is quite literally the opposite, where everyone only wants to be your friend if you have something to offer them, is not something that I was ever really comfortable with.
It was something that I had to get used to, but honestly, I never really did.
I was starting to feel like the more time I spent away from there, the less I was ever going to want to go back.
“So what do you plan to do while you’re home?” Mom asks. I’m sure she’s been dying to, and I take a deep breath before I answer.
“I think I might write—if the mood strikes.” Honestly, it’s been damn near impossible to find inspiration and want to write these days. But I could try.
“What else?”
Mom was bent over her filing cabinet organizing paperwork, and I let myself sit on one of the desk chairs, looking around the room and feeling alive for the first time in months. “Just live, Mama. I just want to live normally for a little while.”
Mom stops what she’s doing, looking over her shoulder and smiling at me with a wink. “That sounds good, baby.”
