Southern Saturday Nights ✔️

1 | Hometowns

"Caleb, hey!" I rushed after him and squeezed past his arm in the narrow hallway to block him, holding my hands between us. "I know you're mad, but I need you to calm down. We've got to get ready for church."

Caleb's gray-blue eyes were clouded over in frustration as he stared me. "I don't w-want to go if I have to wear this shirt." The slow, rhythmic tapping of his index finger and thumb started.

The tantrum took all the breath from his lungs, leaving his shoulders hunched, but it didn't stop him from sticking his trembling bottom lip out to give me his best 'puppy dog' face.

I folded my arms across my chest and dropped my eyes to the hardwood floor. He knew it was unfair to give me that look because it meant I had to make the decision of whether my day was going to be easy or an uphill battle. My love for Caleb always made the choice a simple one.

"Okay, well how about we let you pick out a shirt for the service today?"

Caleb's palm was moist against my skin as he patted my forearm in his best effort to show affection. "You're the b-best." His full lips pulled into my favorite crooked smile before he returned to his room.

"Don't take too long, you hear? Momma is going to be ready to leave soon," I called over my shoulder.

Silence settled over the house except for a family photograph swaying against the wall. My fingers caught the heavy frame and aligned it with the rest of the photos littering the old hallway. It only made sense that the picture torturing me this morning would be my favorite one in the entire house. I was so happy to be a big sister the day Caleb was born. It was scary how much I could love one tiny human being. In that moment, we were actually a happy family.

My mother's strained voice carried up the stairs, serving as a strict reminder that I didn't have much time before we left for church. I told myself I wouldn't rush for her, but that didn't stop me from hurrying down the hallway.

My bedroom sat tucked away in the back of our farmhouse, renovated by my mother specifically for when I was born. She painted the walls in defiance of my grandmother, covering the outdated floral wallpaper with a soft purple. So— even though I hated the color purple—I never had the heart or guts to ask my mother if I could repaint.

Stacks of boxes stuffed with my belongings littered the dark wooden floor, only leaving a small path to walk. My closet—stripped of the insides—looked bare and unfamiliar. I'd grown accustomed to seeing it filled to the brim with new clothing. God forbid, anyone in town think we rewear our outfits. I mean, honestly, my family had enough clothes to give everyone in the state of Alabama an outfit, with some left over.

I stopped to pick up the white lace dress I'd tossed across one of the boxes in favor of my blue dress for breakfast. The lace was rougher than normal cotton against my skin, but my mother always adored the dress.

She thought that my dark curls were beautiful against the white lace and made it a point to remind me that she didn't have the chance to wear expensive things when she was young. I figured since she would be angry with Caleb for wearing his favorite blue shirt, I could at least try to appease her by wearing the dress. I mean, who cared if I was uncomfortable and itchy the entire service? I looked good in everyone's eyes, and that's all that mattered.

Heavy footsteps were followed by creaking steps, sending an echo through the thin walls. I knew the knock was coming but it still made me jump.

"Allyson, honey, your mother is ready to go." My father's voice was coarse, like fragmented rock grinding beneath truck tires.

"I'm coming." I smoothed the white dress against my hips before opening the door.

His face was leathery and wrinkled from years beneath the southern sun, but his black raven hair mingled with the graying strands on his head in a way that hid any suggestions of his age. He appraised me warmly.