Back To You

Chapter Five

"Gross," I say to myself, wrinkling my face in disgust. "The Falcone's painted their house pink."

"What's that?" my Uber driver asks.

"Oh, nothing. Sorry."

"Taking a trip down memory lane?"

"Something like that."

He slows the car and turns into our driveway. "How long have you been gone?"

"Almost ten years. But it feels like much longer."

"Well, I hope you enjoy your stay." Our eyes meet in his rearview mirror and a smile stretches across his round face. "Let's get your luggage. Shall we?"

"Mom! I'm home." I shut the door behind me and tuck my luggage into the corner of the living room. After hearing her excitement when I told her I was coming home, I expected her to be on the front porch waiting for me, but the house is silent. "Hello? Anybody here?"

I make my way through the house, checking each room as I go, until I finally look out the kitchen window and find her in the backyard. She's on her knees in the grass vigorously sanding what looks like an end table. I tap on the glass to get her attention and when I do, her blue eyes light up and a huge smile adorns her thin face. She stands and runs toward the house, knocking the table over in the process, and it's only when she bursts through the back door do I realize just how long it's been since I've seen her.

Her shoulder length, strawberry blonde hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. The crow's feet around her eyes have deepened and there are fresh freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. White paint is smeared across her forehead and when I look down at the rest of her, I notice more on her forearm and on the knees of her pants. She's also skinnier than she was the last time I saw her. My mother has always been thin, but she's in a pair of navy-blue sweatpants and my father's UNC Basketball t-shirt and I can't help but notice how big they are on her.

"My baby girl is home!" she cries.

"Hi, mom." I stretch my arms toward her, and she laces her fingers with mine. "Why are you such a mess?"

"Oh." She looks down at herself and chuckles. "I'm upscaling some furniture I found at a thrift store in town. Your father's all for it because it keeps me busy."

"I'm sure he's thrilled."

Since my breakdown in the bathroom at Manhattan Mocha yesterday I've kept myself together surprisingly well, but the second my mother wraps her arms around me and I feel the warmth of her familiar embrace, I burst into tears.

"Shh," she whispers. She steadily drags her hand through the hair on the back of my head. "I know, honey. I know. Just let it out."

"I can't believe this is happening." My voice shakes as I try and speak through a sob. "He doesn't love me anymore, and it's all my fault."

"Let's go sit down."

She leads us into the living room, handing me a box of tissues as I sit down on their brand-new, white, microsuede couch. She told me when she bought it that my father wasn't pleased, and now I understand why. I don't even want to go near it, afraid I'll get a smudge on its alabaster perfection.

"Why would you think any of this if your fault?"

"I don't think it is," I say. "I know it is."

"Did Will tell you that?"

I shrug my shoulders. "In so many words, yes."

"Delaney, he cheated because he's a coward. Not because of anything you did." She tucks a chunk of my blonde hair behind my ears and wipes a tear from my cheek with the pad of her thumb. "Were you a perfect wife? Hell no, but no woman is. We learn as we go. You may have made some mistakes, but he made the decision to be unfaithful. None of this is your fault."