Page 17 of The Girl I Once Loved

One thing I really appreciated was the fact that he never talked about his son. His focus was solely on me and my wellbeing and how I was coping living so far from home. His concern for me was genuine and akin to what any protective father would have for his daughter. I’m not sure how I would have coped alone in college those first few years if I didn’t have his unwavering support.

“Can I get one of those too?” My mother interjects from behind him, pulling my attention towards her.

Reluctantly, I pull away from Curt’s embrace and step towards my mother.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi,” she replies with a smile, before wrapping her arms around me.

I nestle my chin into her shoulder as she embraces me, but I don’t feel the same love and tenderness that I felt in Curt’s arms. This hug feels forced and rigid.

Unlike Curt, my mom never forgave me for leaving.

It’s always been there between us.

The resentment.

The disappointment.

I guess if my child had decided to pick up all her stuff and leave home in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye, I’d be pretty pissed too. Especially since I left to live with her estranged ex-husband before going off to college. It’s been seven years now, and I can still feel the unspoken tension between us. She’s unable to relax or just be herself with me. It’s like she’s become this whole other person I no longer recognize. One that keeps me at arm’s length, fearing that if I get too close, I’ll see the truth of how deep her resentment for me truly is.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Maybe I’m the stranger here.

Maybe she senses that I’m no longer that wallflower that was content to hide in the corner, happy to keep her mouth shut just to make her life easier. But that girl died a long time ago, and I have a feeling my mother still mourns who I used to be, unhappy with the woman I’ve become.

Unsurprisingly, my mother is the first to pull away from the embrace and step back, seeking refuge beside her husband.

“I made lunch. You must be starving.” She grins, zigzagging her gaze between me and my sister, unable to meet my eyes for more than a few seconds.

“I could eat,” Daisy singsongs, upbeat.

“Good. Good. Come in. Both of you,” she urges, opening the front door and ushering us in.

But as I step into the house, all the memories I’ve tried so hard to keep locked away in the confinements of my soul surface to the forefront of my mind, like a tidal wave intent on drowning me whole.

Nothing’s changed.

Everything looks exactly the same, and a pain so severe hits me like a ton of bricks, making my knees almost buckle. The familiar smell of salt and sea breeze invades my senses, making my stomach churn as I take everything in. The same flowery curtains hang on the windows. The same old couch and lounge chair remain at the center of the living room, facing a television set that is as outdated as the décor around it.

Memories of how I used to lay on that couch and write all my thoughts and dreams about a blue-eyed boy whose smile lit up my world forms a knot in my chest. The girl who lived here had been so cavalier with her heart, completely oblivious to the danger it was in. Wide-eyed and lovestruck, she willingly stepped into the flame, uncaring if it would turn her heart to ash. All because his touch set a fire inside her, that no one has ever been able to match since.

Being in this room is so overwhelming that I have to outstretch my arm to grab hold of the wall, just so I don’t stumble and fall.

“Home sweet home,” Curt says proudly, squeezing my mother’s shoulders affectionately.

The lump in my throat prevents me from saying anything as I slowly follow everyone into the kitchen, finding that it too remains just as I left it.

“I made your favorite. Fried chicken and macaroni and cheese,” my mom announces proudly.

“Actually, I’m a vegan now,” I explain while sitting down, thankful that I didn’t faint from all the memories bombarding me all at once from just being inside this house.

“Since when?” My mother’s brows pull together.

“Since her freshman year in college,” Daisy says, placing a comforting hand over my mother’s on the table. “Sky did that whole exposé about how the meat industry is responsible for a big part of ruining the environment for the Dartmouth newspaper. Remember, Mom?”

Doubtful.

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