There is no usual welcome from Mom, no jump outside and knock me down till I’m almost on the ground, full of excitement and smiles.
Nothing but an empty greeting which is exactly what I deserved.
We walk inside to find the house strangely quiet. Dad places my bags down and opens the carrier.
“What do you want me to do with George?”
Dad has taken to George, bending down and squashing his face with a baby voice. This man seriously needed grandchildren or something else to keep him busy besides our fucked-up love lives.
“Whatever you want but best don’t show him your closet. He has a fetish for male shoes.”
Dad pats his thigh, calling George to follow him outside. George seems relieved; a long flight with another puppy on board was too stressful for him. The bitch had the audacity to tease him the entire flight with her Louis Vuitton carrier and Gucci collar.
Sucking in the air with a pile of guilt nesting in my stomach, I walk to Mom’s office to find the door shut. I knock gently, with no response, then open the door with caution. She doesn’t look up to see me, her concentration focused on the screen. Although it’s daylight, her blinds are drawn down with a small lamp directed on her desk.
“Mom,” I whisper, like a lost little girl.
She doesn’t say a word, eyes still glued to the screen.
“Please say something.” The tears fall down one by one, the salty liquid against my dry lips. “I can lose everything I have but I can’t lose you.”
She bows her head, placing her glasses down on the desk. “You’ll never lose me, kid.”
“I have lost you,” I sob. “I got caught up in it all . . . the whole . . .”
“Romance.”
“Romance . . .” I repeat quietly. “I’m not sure it was all romance.”
“Bad romance. The best kind.” She finally smiles, motioning for me to sit on her lap like I had always done as a kid.
I position myself on her lap and rest my head on top of hers, hugging her real tight. Her familiar scent is home, comforting me at this very moment. It’s exactly what I needed and with that feeling, I allow myself to cry in her embrace.
“As a romance writer, what’s your take on this?” I ask as the tears subside, enough to talk. “Tell me what your characters would do right now.”
She thinks for a moment, resting her head against my chest. “Well, they always need that time apart to re-evaluate what’s important and what they’re willing to give up.”
“Go on.”
“Then they meet. Somewhere unexpected, but of meaning. A place close to their hearts. It makes the moment even more romantic.”
“Like at Tiffany’s?” I joke softly, smiling through my dried-up tears.
“Or, like the field on Benson’s Corner.”
It takes a moment for the penny to drop. Benson’s Corner is the biggest field in Green Meadows. Ash and Logan would play there every day, sometimes twice a day, for as long as I could remember. I remembered telling Dad one day to build me a cubby house on the big oak tree because we practically lived there.
“That’s Ash and Logan’s field.”
She nods.
“What are you trying to say, Mom?”
“I’m trying to tell you that I’m sure you’ll find an equally devastated man on that field kicking the ball around aimlessly.”
I shuffle on her lap, anxious yet eager. “Logan’s here?”
Mom’s face remains placid, nodding again to assure me she’s not lying.