Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

Distracting is the way a certain pair of green eyes refuse to leave your brain even after the air clears of his cologne.

“Neely.”

“What?” I ask, jumping at the intrusion.

“What?” Mom’s brow furrows.

“What what?”

“Your entire demeanor just changed.”

I hop off the counter and sigh. It’s so much easier keeping things from her when she’s in Tennessee and I’m in New York. “Just thinking. That’s all.”

She places the spatula on the spoon rest we picked up in Philadelphia last year on a quick mother-daughter getaway. Mini vacations are how we see each other unless she comes to see me in New York. I tell myself she needs to get away from here, that it does her good.

Facing me, the confused look melts into one of concern. “Do you want to talk about it yet?”

“Talk about what?”

“Why you’re here. I don’t want to pressure you, honey, but I would like to be there for you because I know good and well something spurred this.”

Grabbing my glass, I head to the refrigerator and add some water. “I can’t just miss my mom?”

“I hope you do,” she says. “But you haven’t just hopped on a plane and come home. Ever.”

I lug in a deep breath. “Maybe I was wrong for not coming home before now. I just . . .”

“I know it’s hard to face things here. We all have things we don’t talk about in life. It took years before I even wanted to hear your father’s name.”

“I still don’t want to hear that.”

“Me either.”

I take in my mother in her kitchen, wearing her apron with a relaxed air about her I never see in New York or while on vacation in a random city. A person looks like that only in their home. As I watch her move easily around the room, I realize I’m more relaxed here than I recall being in a long time.

“If it helps,” I say, “I did miss home. Even if don’t say it a lot.”

“It does help to hear that. I’m thrilled to have you in my kitchen and eating my food, even if I don’t know what’s on your mind.”

“Yeah . . .” I blow out a breath. Leaning against the counter, I watch her as I sip the drink.

Once I open up to my mom, it’s all over. I keep everything in a neat little box mentally when talking to Grace. I’m “New York” Neely with her—composed, professional, aggressive. But with Mom, I’m basically a fourteen-year-old girl standing in front of the woman who can read me like an open book. My stomach twists into a tight knot as I prepare to recount everything that happened.

“It’s not fair for me to come back here and not even tell you why.” I place my cup on the counter. “Thanks for giving me a little while to deal with it on my own.”

“This house is your home whether you actually live here or not. You don’t need a reason to be here, and you don’t owe me an explanation. I just want you to know that whatever it is, I’m on your side.”

“I know. I appreciate that.”

She bites her lip as if to keep herself from saying more.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest. Her support was never a question. She’d stand up for me even if I were wrong. What I don’t want to happen is for her to worry I’m going to starve to death or cast me a look of pity because of the decision I made.

I throw my shoulders back. “I quit my job.”

“Oh, Neely.” Mom’s eyes grow wide. “Are you okay?”

My sigh betrays the confidence I usually go out of my way to depict. The sound is filled with the pressure and stress I’ve been carrying around for a few days, and my mother picks up on it right away.

“Want some tea?” she asks.

“Tea isn’t going to fix this. Turn off your burner, though. The pan is starting to smoke.”

“Darn it.” She flips off the switch and gives the pan a final stir before scooting it to an unlit burner. It’s a few moments before she’s sitting at the table with two mugs of hot tea.

I don’t know if it’s the weight of the moment that sinks me into the chair across from her or the exhaustion I’m just starting to acknowledge deep in my bones. Regardless, there’s a mug in my hands before I know it.

“So . . .” Blowing out a breath, I watch the steam billow from the tea. “Remember a few months ago, I called and told you I thought I’d convinced my boss to start a new magazine focused solely on females in sports?”

“Yes,” she says. With a nod, she smiles brightly. “I believe you said you were ‘knocking down walls,’ or something similar. You were really excited.”