After showering off the stench of whiskey, sweat, and shame, I slipped on a floral midi-skirt and a crochet sleeveless sweater and spent the next several hours working in my mom’s garden. The sunshine was warm on my face, and I could feel the rays beating down on me. It wasn’t long before my cheeks were rosy and my shoulders were pink. But I didn’t stop. I needed Mom, and the only place I knew where I could find her was in the garden.
For as long as I’ve been alive, Mom loved gardening. We’d spend mornings growing up watching Martha Stewart before going out to her flowerbeds to pull weeds. She’d spend hours teaching me about the plants in her beds, if they had a more scientific name they were known as, and if it was a perennial or an annual. To this day, I have a hard time remembering the difference between the two.
The fragrances met me at the garden gate—a sweet, overwhelming tide of lilacs and peonies. Lilac, rich and powdery, seemed to cling to me the deeper I walked, while the cleaner, rose-tinged perfume of the peonies swirled in the breeze,wrapping around me like a hug. I like to think of them as Mom’s arms as she held me close to her chest, whispering, “Welcome home, Pumpkin.”
As I sat and pulled weeds, I wished she were next to me.
I imagined her dressed in capri pants with a thin long-sleeve, her golden-brown hair braided in a single plait down her back, with an oversized straw hat keeping the sun off her skin. As her fingers dug into the rich soil, she mixed herself with the right amount of compost, she’d turn to me over her shoulder, and with a warm smile, ask, “What’s troubling you, sweetheart?”
She’d listen as I’d tell her everything.
And I did.
Only, she wasn’t there to help me work through the mess of my life. But I liked to think she was. With every breath, the air spoke as it twirled my loose hair and every chirp of the birds above my head.
“Yesterday was her birthday, Mom,” I confessed, digging my trough into a thick root. “My daughter would’ve been nine. Can you believe that?
“You would have loved being a grandma. Homemade cookies whenever she was craving something sweet. Picnics under the shade tree with your thick red-and-white plaid blanket. You’d pack the basket with pretty plates and glasses because special times called for pretty tablescapes.”
Bent over, I clipped a few sprigs of lilacs and peonies and placed them in a bucket. The white, pink, and fuchsia peonies looked gorgeous. I couldn’t wait to get home to create an arrangement for my counter.
“I’m glad you were able to be a bonus grandma to Rachel’s little boy. I’m sure Nate loved bringing him to be spoiled by you and Dad. He’s a little heartbreaker. Speaking of heartbreak…” I sighed, sitting on the cushioned knee pad to keep the bottom of my dress clean.
“I’m angry with you, Mom, and it feels unfair to admit when you’re not here. I don’t understand why you kept the letter fromme. It feels like everyone was in on this huge secret, and I was left in the dark…which, I guess, is exactly what happened.”
“I promise I was looking out for you. He wasn’t ready for you, Wren. But I got to see how he changed, and I think… No, I know, he’s ready for you now.”
“Jett and I are a mess. For so long, I never wanted to see him again. Never wanted a chance to fix things, but being back in Silo Bay, everything is changing. There’s still this undeniable spark between us, the one we ignored for a while in middle school, before we gave in to our feelings. Being around him, it makes me want to try again, but I don’t know how we’ll fix things. I told him about the baby, of course; it was news to him, like it’s news to you. I don’t know why I kept it a secret. Maybe I was ashamed. I know I was scared. Jett was gone, and I felt alone. We’re supposed to be adults at eighteen, but I had never felt more like a kid.”
Another breeze filtered through the air.“Sweetie, I wish you had told me. I could’ve helped you.”
“I know, Mom. I couldn’t process it, and when I planned to tell you, it was too late. Everything feels too late.”
“It’s never too late, my girl. I always knew you and Jett would make your way back to each other when you both were ready. Give him a chance. He’s always been a good boy, deep down, but now, he’s a man with layers. You both have new layers from life; we all do. You’re no longer the carefree troublemakers—and yes, Wren, we knew about your reckless behavior. It’s time to have the hard conversations, peel back the layers, and reintroduce yourselves. Your looks and his charm aren’t going to be enough.”
I tilted my head and smiled up at the cloudless blue skies as the sun’s rays kissed my cheeks. The warmth spread over me like a thick blanket.
“Talk to him, my child.”
“I miss you, Mom.”
Then I gathered my bucket of blooms, watered the flowers, and closed the gate before walking back to my cottage.
I tell myself not to go. I’ve already caused enough damage, but before I know it, I’ve gathered a small bouquet in a Mason jar for Grandma Riggsby.
The truck bounces along the gravel driveway. As the Riggsbys’ cabin comes into view, my grip on the steering wheel tightens. I try to tell myself to turn around, since no one’s seen me yet, but I still can’t bring myself to whip around and go home to the comfort of my cottage.
I pass the first turnoff to one of the large barns, which is Riggsby Cattle Headquarters. Rows of trucks are parked along the small parking lot, but I keep driving toward the main house. I know I could turn down the lane and ask one of the farmhands to point me in the direction of Jett—hell, he might even be there. But a part of me wants to run into one of his grandparents, to show them I’m making an effort. That I’m here to stay and fix the damage I’ve caused.
My heart’s racing as I park next to the sidewalk leading to the front door.
Here goes nothing.
The steps creak beneath my boots. I lift a hand to knock, but the door swings open before I have a chance. The breath leaves my lungs as Nora, Jett’s mom, freezes. I knew there’d be a chance I’d run into her at the farm, but after the disastrous family dinner, I’m not sure I’m ready to see her again. I’ve made it a point to skip the last couple of dinners for that very reason. Familiar blue eyes take me in as if she can’t believe I’m standing in front of her.
A soft smile spreads across her lips, showing her aging wrinkles around her eyes.
“Wren?” Her voice is soft, breathless, as she pushes the screen open.
