"No, it's just... complicated right now, Ma."
"Complicated?Yeah, cancer is pretty complicated, Paul. I thought you were scheduling all her treatments today?"
"We did," I say, the words barely squeaking out past the tightness in my throat. "Everything is scheduled and set."
"Okay..." She frowns at me, her narrowed green eyes scanning my face. I can't meet her eyes for more than a second because she can read me like a book. "Then why are you here? Don't you need to be with her to drive her to her appointments? I read you can't drive after chemotherapy—"
"Ma, I just—" My voice comes out too sharp, cutting her off mid-sentence. She notices, arching an eyebrow at me. "...we just needed a breather. Things are a lot right now. Can we please talk about this later?"
Mom's mouth tightens, and she fixes me with the same look she used to give me when I was a teenager—when she knew I had weed hidden somewhere in my room.
It's that deliberate silence, the one that gives you just enough rope to hang yourself. She's waiting for me to confess something.
But I couldn't back then.
And I still can’t.
"Fine," she says at last, nodding toward the stairs. "Put your things up in your room and wash your hands. Dinner'll be ready in ten."
"Okay," I reply, because resisting Donna O'Connor—especially when she's trying to feed you—isn't just foolish, it's impossible.
I pull my duffel over my shoulder and head up the stairs. The duffel is easier to explain for now than the two filled suitcases still sitting in the trunk of my car.
I'll sneak those in later—if I can.
I pass the old family photos lining the walls: vacations,holidays, awkward school portraits.
The ones with Sophie in them hit me like a punch to the chest, a vicious reminder. I have to look away and hurry to my old bedroom—well, it used to be my bedroom. Mom converted it into a guest room not long after I graduated with my Bachelor's.
All my Patriots posters are gone, the Sports Illustrated swimsuit centerfolds mom would always roll her eyes at are tossed. The shelves where my football trophies once sat have been cleared—either boxed away in storage or trashed.
She painted the walls a calm light blue last year and dad patched up all the dents and dings I left behind.
There's no trace of me left in this room.
Because I'd been building a new life—building a future–with Sophie.
I drop the bag by the bed and walk over to the window. Same view of the old maple tree—its branches starting to yellow near the edges in the late summer heat. The same one I used to climb down to sneak out and see Stacey, my high school girlfriend.
Later, it became the same tree I laid under with Sophie the first time she visited this house.
???
My head was in her lap as she sighed contentedly, watching the sun setting. She was running her fingers through my hair and I just closed my eyes, relishing her touch.
"I think I could be really happy here."
My eyes popped open, surprised and delighted. Our eyes met and I questioned, "Yeah? You mean... you'd move here with me after we graduate?"
"I just want to be where you are, Paul," she shrugged and smiled down at me, those soft fingers tracing my cheek down to my chin. "If that's Starling Cove, then Starling Cove it is."
I sat up and cupped her face, pulling her lips to mine and devouring her mouth. This girl—my girl—is incredible. Amazing. Wonderful. She smiled against my lips, laying her small hands against my chest, fingers clenching my shirt and pulling me closer.
"I love you, Soph," I murmured against her lips. I had meant it, I meant it more than anything. She was so good to me. Willing to do anything to make me happy, including packing up and moving to a brand new place where I was already established and comfortable.
She was willing to be brave and start new somewhere. For me.
"I love you too," she smiled at me, and I remember thinking I'll do everything I can to keep earning that smile.
