I find myself driving with no clear destination.
In the passenger seat sits a backpack stuffed haphazardly with random clothes and other essentials. I'd gathered the items quickly, not wanting to linger in Ghost's house longer than necessary. I'm not sure where he went, probably to Dane's to vent his frustration, but I didn't want to still be there when he came back.
I'm not sure what's holding back the flood of tears behind my eyes, but that dam is close to breaking, and I'd rather not be driving when that happens.
I almost wish I could go to Mila's, but I have a fear that she won't be siding with me in this situation. They all started out as Ghost's friends first, not mine. I have no right to go to them anymore. And I'm not sure if I want to. None of them told me the truth, none of them even tried. Why were they all fine with leaving me in the dark?
I find myself turning to the only person I have left. Annie. I pull up to my old dorm in the dead of the night. The rain has eased up slightly into a steady drizzle, and I hold my backpack up above my head and I hurry up the steps to knock on the door.
There's no answer. She might be sleeping. I jiggle the doorknob and it turns, allowing me to open the door. It's the first time I'm grateful for Annie's forgetfulness to ever lock it. I slip inside, peering through the dark.
I shoulder my backpack as I softly shut the door behind me. I flick on the living room light, and the familiar space somewhat relaxes me.
That is, until my eyes fall on the couch, and the memory of Ghost returning my mother's necklace to me comes flooding to the forefront of my mind. And all of the other memories of us cuddled up on that couch, watching movies or making out or taking a nap together.
My throat hitches as I turn away and head down the hallway. I find Annie's bedroom door open, but when I peer inside, her bed is empty. Guess I was wrong, she's not sleeping, she's out partying somewhere. I should've guessed.
I shuffle away to my old bedroom door. I open it and inch inside. If I thought the memories from the living room were bad, this room is a millions times worse. My gaze sadly regards the stripped bed and the empty desk. The image of Ghost sitting there, reading my story for the first time, makes my heart clench.
All the kisses, the conversations, the sleepovers. It's too much to handle.
It's when my eyes land on the wall with the Hello Kitty band-aids that I officially lose it.
With a strangled sob I spin away from the room. I hurry back down the hall and practically throw myself through the front door. I nearly slip on the wet concrete stairs as I rush back down to my car. Once shielded from the rain in the safety of my front seat, I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and release a loud, painful sob.
Why is this so hard? Just the mere memory from a room is enough to cause such a reaction? I have memories with Ghost all over town, am I just supposed to avoid everywhere?
Where am I gonna go now?
As I sit there, attempting to tamp down the floodgates, there's only one other place of refuge that comes to mind. After a few more minutes of relentless crying, I wipe my tearful eyes and turn the key in the ignition. I ease away from the curb and drive cautiously through the quiet, drenched streets until I reach the nearest freeway entrance.
This may be in vain. It may be a waste of time. It may be hopeful thinking. But it's my last resort.
I drive in silence all the way there. It doesn't seem right to listen to music when I feel like this. Depressing songs would just make me more depressed, and happy songs would be even worse.
I'm not sure what I even think about for the hour-long drive. It's almost like I'm just numb from everything. Like I'm on autopilot, just to preserve my own self. But somehow, I reach my destination.
It's two in the morning. I fully expect she won't even open the door. But it's worth a shot anyway as I hike my bag up my shoulder and approach the front door.
I ring the doorbell twice, and then I wait. It's a long wait. I ring it once more, imagining how angry this is probably making her.
When three full minutes pass I decide to accept defeat. I turn on my heel, resigned to sleeping in my car for the night, but then I hear the lock click behind me, and the door slowly inching open.
"Emerson?" Mom's voice sounds tired, confused, and alarmed all at the same time.
I slowly turn back to face her, finding her in a robe with curlers in her hair. She's rubbing one sleepy eye while the other scrutinizes me warily. Like she's worried this is some kind of trap.
All I can do is stare at her. I didn't realize how much I missed my own mom, despite everything she's done.
"What... what are you doing here?" Her tone is cautious, controlled, but not exactly angry. That's at least something to cling to. I try to keep my composition, and stand tall, but it's hard to feel brave all things considered.
"I— I had nowhere else to go." I croak.
She regards me with an analytical gaze. Probably assessing my smeared makeup, wild hair, and backpack full of belongings. She makes no move to open the door any wider, and I begin to regret coming here.
I should've known better. She was fine with cutting me off. She didn't miss me.
"I'm sorry." I murmur, shaking my head with a furrowed frown, "I shouldn't have come. I'll just—"
I can't finish the sentence because suddenly the wind is knocked out of me as she flings herself against me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders in the tightest, most genuine embrace I can ever remember receiving from her.
I'm momentarily stunned, frozen in place as she burrows her head into my neck. Then, I realize what's happening and slowly hug my arms around her, too.
We stay like that for a while, until she finally speaks, her voice full of emotion and muffled against my shirt, "I'm so glad you're here."
******************
I wake up in my childhood room, in my childhood bed that is admittedly a little cramped. For a brief moment I'm confused. For that split second between the grogginess of sleep and fully awake, I expect to be snuggled up in bed with Ghost. I expect his sleepy eyes and dopey smile. I expect to be pulled into his embrace as he squeezes the life out of me like every morning.
Then reality sets in, and I remember everything.
My heart sinks all over again. I want to roll over into my Hannah Montana sheets and fall back into dreamless sleep. But I know I have to face the day. Or at least, my mom. I'm grateful that she didn't demand any kind of explanations last night. She saw how worn down I was, she knew all I needed was a comforting embrace and a bed to crash in. She had led me upstairs to my old room, as if I didn't remember the way myself, and left me to my own devices.
I'm sure she'll expect answers today.
I drag myself out of bed and droll through the mundane tasks of the morning. Pee. Brush teeth. Brush hair. Give up on detangling that rat's nest and throw it up in a depression bun. Wash face. Get dressed. Scratch that, these sweats are fine. Head downstairs. Face mom, who is currently cooking breakfast. When was the last time she cooked me an actual breakfast?
"Morning." I greet tiredly, sliding into place on a stool at the counter.
Mom turns from the stove to face me. She's smiling as she greets, "Good morning, Emerson. Hungry? I made pancakes and scrambled eggs."
It's hard not to appear alarmed at her disposition. She's far happier than I've ever seen her. Is it because I'm here? Or is there something more to her new attitude?
"Uh, yeah, I'm a little hungry." I reply cautiously, every sense on high alert.
She smiles widely at me, scooping up two pancakes and some eggs and placing them nicely on a plate for me. She shakes a can of ready whip and spays two dots and a curved line on the top pancake before setting it in front of me. A smiley face. Is this some kind of trick?
"Dig in." She urges, whipping up a plate of her own before she rounds the counter to sit down beside me. She amicably bumps my shoulder before spearing a large chunk of eggs and popping them in her mouth.
"Mom... are you okay?"
The corner of her mouth quirks, "I'm more than okay. I'm sitting here with my only daughter enjoying a delicious breakfast."
It's almost unsettling how different she's acting. What happened in the time that we weren't speaking? Did she really get this much happier with life without me in it? Was I the reason for all her anger and abruptness? She's clearly living her best life now that she doesn't have to stress about the well-being of her fucked up kid.
I poke dejectedly at my plate. I thought I was hungry. But the sight of the food makes my stomach turn. I nudge the plate away with my elbow and turn to hop down off the stool, but mom grabs my arm, stopping me.
"Emerson, what's wrong?"
I toss a chilly look over my shoulder at her, "What's right?" I retort, pulling away and exiting the kitchen. But mom is right behind me, following me into the living room and chasing me halfway up the stairs.
"What does that mean?" She questions, sounding genuinely hurt.
I whip around to face her, "Is your life really that much better with me gone? Because if so I'll just grab my things and get out of your hair. I wouldn't want to mess things up for you."
Her face is stricken with surprise, her mouth draping open as though she couldn't be more shocked, "You think I'm happy that my only daughter cut me out of her life?"
"You cut me off just the same! It must've been easy enough." I scoff, "Now look at you, all smiles and hugs and whipped cream pancake faces."
"Emerson," Mom's eyes turn sympathetic, staring up at me imploringly from a few steps down, "You couldn't be more wrong. I'm miserable without you. I feel like the worst mom in the world. To put you through all the pressure and torment that I did— I just— it makes me shudder to think about how miserable you were just trying to make me happy."
"Then why haven't you reached out to me?" I ask, my tone dripping with far more emotion than I mean to show. "Why haven't you tried to fix things?"
Her face drops, angling down to her feet as though she's ashamed of herself as she mutters, "I didn't think I deserved to be in your life. Not with the way I was, anyway." She looks back up at me, her expression turning hopeful as she tells me, "Which is why I started seeing a therapist. And I got on medication for my depression and anxiety."
My head reels back, stunned at this revelation. She's staring at me with an expectant look, softly chewing her bottom lip, as if she's scared I'll tell her that she's still not good enough.
But I'm touched. I'm honored, the fact that she's trying to better herself, not just for her sake, but for mine. So we can have a relationship again. It makes the corner of my eyes sting with unshed tears.
"Really?" I utter, my voice breathless, "You're doing that... for me?"
She nods, "For us." Her eyes turn misty, "I want to be your mother again, Emerson. And I want to do it right."
For the second time in twenty-four hours, I hug my mother. We both sniffle with the brink of tears, but it turns into relieved laughter the longer we hold on. In all my life, this is the best moment I've ever shared with her.
I'm ready to share even more.
Once we get the height of our emotions out, I sit down with my mom and actually talk. It's the first real talk we've ever had. She tells me about how therapy is going, all the progress she's made, and the homework her therapist has her do. After we dry out that topic, the attention shifts to me. She asks me why I'm here.
I'm hesitant to tell her everything, only because it's still so raw, but slowly, the more I say, the lighter I feel. There's a lot I needed to get off my chest, and I'm grateful to have someone there who I know is one hundred percent on my side. She doesn't even look mad when I tell her that Ghost and I are living together. She just gets a look of realization, understanding how much more complicated that makes matters.
I keep expecting her to say I told you so or you never should have trusted him to begin with. But she never does. She stays supportive and kind with every new detail, and it makes me want to track down her therapist just so I can hand them a big bouquet of thank you flowers.
"So what are you gonna do?" She finally asks at the end of my retelling.
I sigh heavily, draping myself across the armrest of the couch, "I don't know. I still love him, I don't think I could ever not love him. But I'm hurt. He lied, and he did some pretty bad things in the past."
"But has he ever done anything bad to you?" She questions softly, catching me off guard.
I don't even have to think about it, "No. Of course not."
Her head tilts down inquisitively at me, "Then that's what really counts, Emerson. We can't only be judged by our worst mistakes."
"But does that mean those mistakes should just be swept under the rug?" I shake my head, "It's hard to trust someone with that kind of track record. I don't want to always be worrying if he could somehow, someday do the same thing to me. Sure, people aren't their worst mistakes, but they also never truly change either."
Mom's smile is soft, and motherly. She shrugs her shoulders gently as she regards me before remarking, "They change enough."
She certainly has. Months ago I never would have believed that she'd be sitting here rooting for Ghost. Or at least not totally discarding him.
"Maybe." I murmur, turning my face towards the window as I chew on my nails thoughtfully.
I hear her sigh before she stands up from the chair across from me and shuffles closer. She leans down and plants a tender kiss against my temple. I welcome the show of affection, though it's something that will take some getting used to.
"I know you'll do what's best for you." She mutters against my skin before pulling back to look me in the eye, "You're a strong, intelligent, and fiercely determined person, Emerson. Whatever you decide, or whatever you need, I'll be here for you."
I smile gratefully at her. Is this the feeling of motherly affection I've been missing out on? Because it's almost as good a feeling as being loved by Ghost.
"Thank you." I whisper, clearing my throat as it cracks with emotion. Glancing away I hesitantly add, "I'm not sure how long I'll be here. There's still a lot I need to think about, and space from him will give me a clearer head. Is that okay?"
"Stay as long as you like." She assures me, patting my cheek before straightening up and glancing at the clock, "I've got to go shower. I have an appointment at noon. You'll be okay?"
I gaze up at her. At my new loving and affectionate mother, feeling full of acceptance and relief, even as I feel so torn about Ghost.
She's a lifeline for me now. Even if nothing else works out, and I lose my only other source of happiness in my life, I've still got her. I've finally got a mom.
My mouth stretches into a genuine smile, and I nod my head, "Yeah, I'll be okay."
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AN;
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-Sarah xo