The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

one

Hainsey Blake Stone.

Okay, I lied. He wasn't just my best friend – he was my boyfriend, the only boy I've ever kissed, and the boy I've loved since the day he gave me his apple juice box after Mitchell Sokolov knocked mine out of my hands and called me a too much of a wimp to play road hockey with the boys back in grade four.

I never wanted to leave Whistler, but when I found out that my parents were divorcing because my mom had been cheating on my dad, I was disgusted with Mom for hurting and betraying Dad. And, to a certain degree, it hurt me almost as much as it hurt him. It tore what I thought had been a small, happy family apart. So I left without a second thought. I left everyone and everything behind, including Hainsey.

Heart aching, I shake my head and kill the engine. Now isn't the time to think about him and what I did – how I left someone who needed me behind.

Stepping out of my grey Honda Tuscan, I squint through my sunglasses at the view of my childhood home, wishing I was anywhere but here. The house still looks the same: a modern farmhouse style with three floors, one balcony that stems from the master bedroom, and a large front door that's the colour of an apple. The charcoal grey siding had lost some of its darkness due to the sun and the harsh winters, but all in all, I can recognize the house (sadly).

With an exaggerated sigh, I grab my suitcase and bags from the back, and then begin to hike up the stone steps that lead to the front door. As I climb, I notice that the shrubs have been uprooted from the ground, and replaced with bark mulch. All the way up to the faded white wooden deck is an array of flowers. Everything from stunningly green sweet potato vines to dark purple supertunias to an abundance of yellow day lilies cover the yard. Bushes of baby's breath are at the top of the stairs.

The sight causes me to frown. What the hell? There's no way Mom could have done this – she hates getting even the slightest speck of dirt under her nails. It must have been her new and improved husband – the man has enough money to hire a landscaper.

I check my phone, knowing that I'm trying to deny the inevitable. There are no messages from my sister, Rosalina (who also took Dad's side when it came to which parent she was going to live with after the divorce fell through). None from my friend, Valerie Santiago, which surprises me because she was the one friend I kept in touch with after leaving Whistler; she had seemed as excited as I was to see each other when I called last week.

I roll my head around my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that has suddenly appeared in my muscles. I can already picture what the moment I open the door is going to be like: my mom is going to squeal like a little girl and rush over to hug me like I've been living here for the past five years instead of with my dad. I glance over my shoulder. I wonder if anyone has seen me yet; if I still have time to turn around and drive back to Abbotsford. Backing out would definitely save me some time.

But I shake my head and force my feet to move. Just because I'm here, staying at my old house doesn't mean I have to be nice to the people that are in it. There are only two people I want to see, and I plan to do so.

Inside, I can hear some old country tunes drifting from the upstairs. I roll my eyes. Mom's playlist is set in an eternal 80s and 90s loop of country music that makes me want to upchuck all over the mudroom's slate flooring. I kick off my flip-flops, and drop my stuff in front of the closet door, minus my brown leather purse, which I sling across my body.

I'm halfway up the stairs to the main floor when I hear a distant,"Is that you Emyln?"

I freeze at the sound of my mom's voice. It's been a long time since I've heard her voice, and it still sounds the same: as sweet and light as the lavender honey cakes my grandma used to make with me and Rosa. Old feelings stir up inside of me. To be honest, I've missed having a mom in my life – sometimes an older sister and the three aunts don't cover shit. But, on the reverse, I'm still pissed off at her for breaking my happy family apart because of her selfishness.