Page 62 of Revelry
My bottom lip quivered and I reached up to touch it, covering it with my trembling hands. Mom’s eyes glossed over but she sniffed back the tears, nodding just once before she opened the door.
“Take care of yourself. And for God’s sake, call your mother once in a while.”
With that, she stepped over the threshold and let the door close gently behind her. And there I was, alone again, feeling it for the first time since that very first week of the summer.
My chest ached, breaths hard to grasp. I tried to set my mug on the counter but missed, teetering it on the very edge until it crashed to the floor by my feet.
The hot liquid splashed everywhere, covering my toes and leggings as the ceramic scattered. I jumped back with a yelp, and then I just stared at the mess, hands frozen mid-air like I could stop it from happening even though it already had.
It was something so small, so stupid, easily cleanable with a broom and mop.
But it was the last straw for me.
I screamed, face contorting as tears pooled in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I swiped at them angrily and flew up the stairs, changing out of my bed clothes hastily before snatching my keys off the kitchen counter and tugging on my boots. I needed to get out. I needed to drive. I needed space. I needed clarity. I needed a place without judgment, a clear mind, a sign—something.
But the truth was even worse than all that.
Because really, I had no idea what I needed, at all.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been driving. I only knew the sun had set at some point, my back was aching, my hands were sore from gripping the steering wheel, and my hair was a mess from having the windows down.
It could have been midnight or long after for all I knew, but I still found myself pulling into Momma Von’s driveway.
She was sitting on her front porch alone, reading a book as she rocked in the chair directly under her porch light. She peered up at me as my headlights shone over her, and when I cut the engine and stepped out, she closed her book with a sympathetic smile.
“Well, don’t you look beautiful,” she said sarcastically when I hit the top stair. I plopped down in the chair Ron usually sat in, crossing my legs and tucking my feet up under my thighs.
“I’m a mess.”
She chuckled, setting her book on the coffee table between us. She watched me for a moment, probably waiting for me to speak, but I didn’t know what to say yet.
“Anderson was here not too long ago,” she finally said. My heart stopped at the mention of his name, eyes flicking to Momma Von’s. “He was pretty upset, guess he was expecting a call from you tonight.”
I swallowed. “I texted him when I pulled in. I just, I can’t see him right now.”
She nodded, brushing her bangs from her face. “Okay. So tell me what happened, then.”
I blew out a long breath, not sure why her asking that question was so frustrating to me. I was obviously here because I wanted to talk to her, and yet I had no idea what I actually wanted to say.
“My mom came by today.”
“Oh? How was that?”
I laughed. “Soul-crushing.”
Silence fell over us. I wondered if I was really even mad at my mom, or if I was more ashamed at what she’d walked in on. Those thoughts would circle in my head, and then I’d get mad at myself for being ashamed of Anderson or my cabin or my choices, just to immediately question them again and wonder if the reason I felt guilty was because Ishouldfeel that way. I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight.
“Anderson was there,” I said after a while. “He let her in. And she was a bitch to him, of course.”
“Was she a bitch to you?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I want to say she was, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if she was just being honest and telling me everything I don’t want to hear.”
“Like?”
I sighed, running both hands back through my tangled hair. I pulled the hair tie off my wrist and tied it up in a messy ponytail. “Like that I’m self-centered. And that I may think I know what I’m doing coming out here but that I’m just distracting myself instead of facing my feelings like I originally meant to.”
Momma Von processed that as a breeze swept over us. I grabbed one of the small blankets she kept in a basket on her front porch and laid it across my lap, tucking my hands underneath.
