“Because you know it’s crunch time, and my plan is to move this weekend.”
She hands over an iced coffee drink and a white paper bag. Immediately I notice the logo for my aunt Lyndee’s bakery. Taking both items, I sip the sweet, caramelly coffee drink before peeking inside the bag. I gasp. “Is that a raspberry strudel?”
“You know Lyndee. She made a batch just for you,” Mom confirms before moving a pile of clothes on my bed and dropping onto the mattress. “How’s it going?”
I take a quick bite, savoring the sweet raspberry taste mixed with pastry and frosting. “It’s going. Besides my bathroom, this is the last room to pack up.”
She glances around. “You’re doing well.”
“I’m about to just pitch it all,” I confess, earning a chuckle.
“Don’t do that. You never know when you’ll need this…thing.” She looks up at me, picking up the bright orange object and giving it a once-over. “What is this?”
A giggle slips from my lips. “It’s a puppy life preserver with a shark fin.”
“But…why do you have it?”
I shrug. “It was an impulse buy.”
Mom tosses it aside and shakes her head. “All right then. What can I help with?”
“I thought Em had a game,” I state, referring to my little sister, Emberlyn. She’s a senior in high school and plays on the softball team. These extended colder temps, mixed with a bit of a rainy spring, has made it difficult to get all her games in before the end of the season.
“The field is too wet,” Mom confirms. “They’re doing a practice in the gym, and then she’s gonna stop by here to help.”
I don’t necessarily need my sister’s help, but I’m excited she’s stopping by. Em and I are best friends, despite the ten-year age difference. I have two younger brothers, who are just as rowdy and wild as you’d expect them to be, so when I was ten and my mom had my sister, she was like a little gift from heaven. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brothers, but growing up, they were a lot to handle. Especially when we’d all get together with the cousins.
“She’s going to miss you,” Mom states quietly, causing my throat to tighten.
“It’ll be completely mutual,” I tell her. “I’ll only be an hour away. I was farther when I went to Ohio State.”
“I know,” Mom confirms, standing up and taking the box I just filled and taping the lid closed. “But you came home as often as you could back then, and after four years, moved back home for good. Now you’re leaving once more and staying.” Her green eyes fill with unshed tears.
Climbing to my feet, I pull her into a hug. I feel wetness hit my shirt as a few tears slide down my cheek too.
When she pulls away, she gives me a sad, watery smile. “I’m so proud of you, Lizzie.”
“Thanks.”
She wipes the tears from my face, much like she did when I was growing up. “We’re all very proud of you.”
I nod, unable to get words past the lump stationed in my throat. “Dad has been…quiet.”
“Because he’s sad, Lizzie, not because he’s not happy or proud of you. You following your dreams is a parent’s ultimate goal in life, even if that goal takes you away from us.”
“I’m not going far,” I remind her.
“I know, and that’s why he’s as calm as he is. If you were moving farther, he’d struggle. He’d still be proud of you, but he’d really have a hard time letting go. You remember what it was like that first time we dropped you off at college, right?”
I bark out a laugh as one of my favorite memories replays in my mind. We had everything in my dorm set up, but he kept finding little things to do or fix to draw out their departure. He even went as far as to go to the big box home improvement store and replace the bathroom faucet because it dripped and strengthened the closet clothing rod because it felt a touch loose.
“Oh, I remember. My roommate thought he was a Stage Five Clinger,” I say, referring to one of my favorite movies,Wedding Crashers.
Mom laughs. “He was. But he got over it, and he’ll get over this too.”
I sigh and rest my head on my mom’s shoulder.
Not a lot of people know this, but my dad isn’t my birth dad. He adopted me when I was four, after my birth dad went to prison. He signed over his rights, thankfully, allowing the only man I’ve known as a father to raise me and give me his last name.
