And she’s gone.
“Oh, my god,” I burst out laughing, tugging on Mom’s hand to steer her upstairs. “Nature dance?”
“You said she’s into that kinda thing.” She flashes me one of her slow, easy grins, but something’s off about it. It’s the same look that struck me the last few times we Zoomed, lacking depth and setting off high-pitched alarm bells in my head.
My bedroom door’s already open when we reach the top of the stairs. Mom steps inside ahead of me, immediately figuring out it’s mine. She strolls through the room trailing a finger over the wall as she takes her time looking around, and I wonder if this is what’s throwing her off. Standing inside a house that belongs to a man she hasn’t seen in years. A man she shares so much history with. She probably never thought she’d set foot in here.
“Is it strange?” I ask quietly.
“Is what strange?”
“Being here. In Dad’s house.”
She pauses mid-step, finger still against the wall. I’m not sure if the reaction is from my question or hearing me call himDadfor the first time. After a second, she looks over her shoulder and straight at me, a distant, almost sad smile touching her mouth.
“Yes, beautiful. It is. But seeing you here ...” The smile disappears, and she glances away, resuming walking. “Seeing you here isn’t strange at all.”
I open my mouth to ask what she means when she picks up my bundle of sweetgrass and says, “You haven’t been using it as much as I thought you would.”
As I inspect the sweetgrass with her, a weird feeling swells in my chest. Almost like I’ve done something wrong. Betrayed our lifestyle somehow. I know I’ve slipped out of some of my habits since moving here, but seeing Mom in my room, holding the grass we’ve used together countless times, makes me realize just how much.
“I guess not. I’m trying to get better at balancing everything.” I don’t know when I started fidgeting with our birthstones. “Actually, I just smudged earlier today.”
Mom gently sets the sweetgrass back on my abalone shell, then turns to me. Her delicate fingers touch my chin, lifting it until we’re looking right into each other’s eyes.
“Hey,” she says softly. “It’s okay. You know that, right?”
I suck in a breath, no clue why my eyes are suddenly watering. It feels so good to hear those words from her.It’s okay. I want her to make everything okay. Easy. Life was always easy when it was just the two of us.
“You know what we have to do now, though, don’t you?” Her gaze flicks between mine, and my brows knit.
“Uh, no?”
“Fix this room.”
“What’s wrong with my room?”
Still watching me, she points to the ceiling.
“You don’t like my ceiling?”
She tugs her tote bag over her head, rifling through its contents. “I like it just fine. But”—pulling out two small containers of paint, one orange, and one yellow, she wiggles her eyebrows—“don’t you think it’s missing a little something?”
My jaw falls to the floor, an unexpected rush of nostalgia flooding me. I’ve missed falling asleep to the sight of my weird alien-egg sun.
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Deadly.”
“Wait, but ... aren’t I leaving soon?” I stumble over the wordleaving, like my mouth doesn’t want to let it out. Once it escapes, my question sits heavy between us.
Mom sets the bag down and pulls her hair back with a yellow tie, then lifts a shoulder as casually as if I’d asked where the bathroom is. “Do you want to?”
“I ... I mean, I ...” My gaze rakes over the four walls of the room that’s been mine for these past few months, and my throat’s suddenly too dry to speak.
Of course I want to. I want to gohome.I want Northern California’s lush greenery and trees. I want to get lost in the endless woods with Benji and lie on my back in the grass stargazing with Mom.I want simple. Easy. Timeless. So why does my stomach twist at the thought of leaving, like I’m going to be sick? I can’t stay here forever. I don’t know how I didn’t think about this sooner. Walking away from my life here. From Joshua. From Dad and Rebecca. Even Kimmie.
I don’t notice I’m wringing my fingers until my knuckles turn almost white. When I look back at Mom, I find her watching me in that way she does. Like she knows things I don’t. When I was little, that same look convinced me she knew all the secrets of the universe. Sometimes, I still wonder.
