Somehow it felt patronizing.
I was slightly ahead of schedule, which was unlike me. It’s why I’d called Teagan. I’d wanted to give her a head’s up that I was early. She wouldn’t have minded either way, but I hadn’t seen her family in a couple of years.
They’d been like second parents to me as a kid, and they always extended an invitation for every holiday—from Independence Day to Christmas, even Valentine’s Day. Let’s be real, I recently got an invitation to their Labor Day Extravaganza.
But that was also the reason I’d made an excuse for the last six years. Their kindness wasn’t only offered to me. Teagan’s brother’s friends were also on the list of invites, and some of them were just selfish enough to accept. Every single time. Even on Valentine’s Day.
I pulled my trusty Corolla, Agnes, behind a massive white truck with a vanity license plate that read MEOW? MEOWR? MEOWER1? MEOW RUN? That read something about cats and gave myself a once-over before I waltzed into Teagan’s house.
Official ruling? It wasn’t my best work. I’d shoved everything I still owned after having sold most of the big stuff on Marketplace into my reliable girl Agnes yesterday, slept on the floor, got up at the crack of dawn—all so I could drive the eight hours to get here in time for Thanksgiving dinner. My oversized sweatpants were rumpled and smelled of coffee, popcorn, andwhatever else I’d managed to spill on them. My thick, difficult hair had all but become an animal refuge high atop my head, and there was more mascara under my eyes than on my eyelashes. But I’d survived the drive. And the life uprooting it had taken to get here.
Sure, I hadn’t allowed myself a singular glance beyond Teagan’s house. At this point, I couldn’t even tell you if my childhood home was still standing or if my mom had it bulldozed. But I hadn’t fainted yet. Or cried. Or run back to Denver. So . . . winning?
Still, the presence of the house loomed like a ghost leering at me as I walked up the driveway and toward the front door. A chill slipped over my heart, rattling my rib cage. I wouldn’t look at it. I wouldn’t give it my attention.
Okay, one glance. One tiny glance . . .
Teagan threw herself out the front door and squealed in delight as she yanked me into a hug. “You’re here!” she screamed.
I returned her squeeze, thankful her body was here to anchor me to the ground. Per usual, she was the thing that kept me from floating away. “Ugh, I smell like a rest stop.”
She pulled back just far enough so her hands could land on my shoulders and shake me dramatically. “It’s been so long.”
“You were at my house two weeks ago.” She had driven up with her brother, Cooper, in his truck so they could transport the big stuff I’d wanted to keep. My bed, for instance, including—regrettably—my mattress. My dresser. A coffee table I’d fought tooth and nail for in the big breakup. My kitschy bar cart I’d rescued antiquing and was looking forward to loading up again.
She rolled her eyes. “I meant, it’s been so long since you lived in the same town as me, Holls. You were never supposed to move away. You broke your promise.”
I finally gave in to that quick glance. “A promise I made in second—” I lunged onto the browned grass. “Oh, my gosh, what happened? What did Celine do?”
Teagan burst into laughter again. “I thought you knew?”
“You thought I knew that the woman who is sometimes referred to as my mother erased my childhood completely?” The little yellow house I’d grown up in . . . the one with charming dark brown shutters and window boxes filled with petunias . . . the one my dad had bought my mom before I was born . . . the one where he’d died when I was eight . . . had been painted white, and grown a wrap-around porch.
The shutters were black now, as was the trim and the fancy new garage door. The tree Teagan and I used to play under had been ripped out of the ground and replaced with landscaping beds that were brown and bare right now but had some potential to be pretty. Maybe. There was a rock path that wound around the house and disappeared behind a designer fence that had never existed when I lived there. I could see string lights hanging from a pergola. There was comfy, oversized outdoor furniture on the porch as if Celine enjoyed sitting in the fresh air and reading a book.
Which was ludicrous.
Celine didn’t read. Or sit still.
“I think it looks really good,” Teagan said in a way that dared me to contradict her.
“It’s gorgeous,” I grumbled in a petulant voice. “A little surprised she didn’t paint it animal print, though, or gold or something. She must have had some help.”
Teagan grimaced. “She dated a designer for a while. We think he made most of the decisions.”
“That makes more sense.”
Teagan linked her arm through mine, tugging me toward her house. “Where is she by the way? You know, she’s alwayswelcome.” She ignored my glare. “But we haven’t seen her in a while.”
I shrugged. “Her latest text said something about Spain for the holiday season.”
“Spain?”
“She can’t bear America’s Christmas consumerism.” I mimicked my mother’s lofty tone. “She justhadto get out. See the world.” I gave Teagan a look. “The real world, darling. Not drab Kansas.”
Teagan held the door open for me. “That’s nice of her to keep you informed of her travels.”
“I think it’s just in case she dies.” At Teagan’s gulped laughter, I added, “She’s afraid her body will get lost overseas or something. She doesn’t want to be buried in some rando cemetery in Dubai or Ibiza or whatever. My sole responsibility as her daughter is to make sure her remains get home safely.”
