A two bed, one bath single story dwelling that kept its rustic heritage with simple white walls and a high beam ceiling. The kitchen was modern, along with the bathroom, and my bedroom was four walls of glass, jutting out like a box, the entire room cradled by woodland.
I didn’t want to live in a tent fulltime, but more and more, I’d been drawn to sleeping unhindered beneath the treetop canopy.
Now, I could be free every night.
“I should never have helped you get planning permission. Then at least you’d still be living here with me.” Mom pouted.
This was one of those times when a hug would be good. A hug would defuse the tension and give her the contact she needed with assurances that just because I wasn’t sleeping under her roof anymore didn’t mean I wasn’t still her son.
But today was a bad day for me.
A bad day for both of us.
Today was the anniversary of Dad’s death, and the pain cut me like a thousand blades. Mom and I had already been into the forest to pay our respects to our dead loved one. We’d shared a simple breakfast beneath the initial-carved tree, our thoughts with Dad rather than on conversation with each other.
I was unbelievably cruel to choose this day over any other to move out, but…I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t sleep in the same house where love and heartbreak painted the walls. I couldn’t eat in the same kitchen where laughter and togetherness and family lingered like broken ghosts every day.
This place was too hard.
Too full of affection that I couldn’t tolerate a moment longer.
“I love you, Mom,” I said softly. “I just…I need my own place, you know?”
She looked at the floor, nodding quickly. “I know.”
“You’re welcome over there anytime.”
“I know. You too. Here, I mean. Your bedroom will always be yours.”
I went toward her slowly. “It’s not my bedroom anymore. Decorate it however you want. Make it a writing room. A library. Anything you want.”
She smiled through fresh tears. “A library could be nice.”
I grinned, my heart hurting despite knowing moving out of home was the right thing to do. This was the only chance I had to try to figure out the mess inside me. I would never leave Cherry River because I would never leave Mom. But I needed something of my own. Something where I could let down my walls and just…
Breathe?
Exist?
Fade?
Either way, my path was already laid out before me, and I was content to tread it—as long as I had my own space to hide when the mask I wore to protect those I cared about slipped.
My arm came up, my fingers grasping Mom’s long blonde hair and the blue ribbon tangled in the strands. I didn’t know if she’d cut a new piece lately or if this was the piece I’d cut for her on request of my dad, but either way…not a day passed when she didn’t have the ribbon somewhere.
Last year, puberty meant my height shot upward, putting me a least a foot over her. She said it was the only thing I hadn’t taken after Dad. I was taller even than him. And at that moment, I was grateful for the height difference as it meant I could bend close, kiss her forehead, and arch out of her reach before she could return the affection.
Her lower lip wobbled as I backed away with a small wave. “I’ll be right across the meadow if you need me.”
She nodded.
“I’ll have my phone on me at all times if it’s an emergency.”
She nodded again.
“I’m not truly gone, Mom. I’ll never leave you, ‘kay?”
Her final nod was obscured as I turned around, scooped up the closest box, and walked out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jacob
* * * * * *
Seventeen Years Old
“WILD ONE?”
I looked up from where I had my hands in compost, transplanting seedlings into my first official veggie garden. I’d lived alone in my cabin for three months, and after a long day working the land, toiling with sun and seasons, I’d hoped I’d find some resemblance of peace in my own space.
The opposite happened.
I couldn’t relax. The silence was too oppressive. The emptiness too familiar. I didn’t like watching TV, so I settled on doing anything I could to keep my mind busy.
I studied YouTube tutorials from how to install an extra skylight in my kitchen to planting a garden full of potatoes, tomatoes, broccoli, and every other vegetable I could think of.
I wouldn’t admit it, but I was slowly running out of things to do.
Grabbing the rag that I kept in my pocket for tractor grease, occasional cuts, and farm muck, I stood as Mom stepped off the wraparound deck and smiled at my progress.
“Wow, are you feeding yourself or an army?”
“You, me, Grandpa, Aunt Cassie…” I smirked. “I did kinda go overboard when I bought the seeds. And some won’t survive with the colder weather, but hey.”