“I don’t mind,” my brother says, already perking up over the thought of spending time with Aiden.
When the man is question looks to me for reassurance, I nod. I’ve been wanting to talk to his mom since Friday, but never found the time or courage to say what I felt needed to be said.
Porter and I spent all day yesterday together touring Lindon’s campus, and he pretended to be interested even though I could tell he wasn’t. We wound up at Bea’s where he got to meet Bets and my cheery young coworker, and Lena found a new person to blush over when my brother walked in. Secretly, I’m glad he’ll be going home because I’m not sure how I feel about the two sixteen-year-olds flirting.
Bets welcomed Porter with open arms, looking surprised I hadn’t mentioned having a brother and gave us free drinks and food despite my protests.
It was a good day full of idle conversation that wasn’t too heavy. He likes rap music, has no interest in school, and no idea what he’ll major in at college. His main goal is almost identical to Aiden’s. Play football.
And when I asked if it’s what he wanted to do because he loved it, he gave me a dumfounded look that told me I was ridiculous for thinking he was forced into it. It’s another reminder that our lives are different—he was shown support and even the tiniest bit of decency, where I wasn’t. Even though I blame myself for some of the tension contributed to my downfalls with Mom, I still hold onto the justifications as if they can ease the shame.
When the guys all leave sometime later, I put on an old t-shirt and leggings I pulled from the dresser drawer Aiden gave me a couple weeks ago that I don’t mind getting food on.
“Aiden says that you still bake,” she says, smiling as I coat the counter with flour before placing the ball of dough down and pressing on it with the heel of my palm.
Grabbing a rolling pin she must have brought with her I offer an easy nod. “It calms me down. Plus, it’s the least I could do for the guys since they let me stay here. I’ve learned some new healthier recipes so all the baked goods don’t interfere with their games and training.”
She slices the apples carefully, the sound of the knife against the chopping board somehow peaceful to me, a sound of familiarity minus the bright green kitchen and hot pink stool I’m used to when baking something with her. “The bakery you work at seems lovely. I was surprised when Aiden said you were an undeclared major. I thought you had to claim one after freshman year.”
I go to answer but pause as I begin rolling. I asked Aiden not to say anything about my past to his parents once he confirmed they didn’t know what had happened. There are some things people don’t need to know, especially the two people who always viewed me with high regards. The last thing I want them to find out is where I really spent the better of the last four years. I’d rather keep up the lie my parents invested in than admit the gruesome truth. “I actually just started at the university this semester, so I’m only a freshman. There were things I had to figure out before I decided to give college a shot.”
She begins tossing the apple slices in a bowl and collecting the spices for the mixture that will become the filling. “And do you like it?”
I stare at the dough I flatten like it’ll give me the answer. “Honestly? Not really. The structure is nice. It keeps me on track, so I know where I need to be and when. But I’ve never been great at school and not much has changed in that regard.”
“What about baking?”
Pausing, I look to her. Her eyes are focused on the filling, not glancing at me once to see the confusion on my face. “What about it?”
She brushes off her hands and turns to me, a hand going to her aproned hip. “You enjoy it, and it calms you. School isn’t for everyone, you know. I didn’t attend college for more than a year because I realized I didn’t belong there.”
My lips part. “You didn’t?”
Her smile is encouraging. “Tell me something, Ivy. Why do you want to go? It’s what I had to ask myself to make my choice.”
“I…” I think about my parents, and bite down on the inside of my cheek as I go back to the dough, sprinkling my flour onto it. “To prove that I could I guess. Maybe to stall until I figured out what else there was to do. I need a plan.”
“To prove to who?”
This time, I don’t answer.
“You owe me nothing, Ivy,” she says brushing my arm with her hand. “But I’d hate to see you go after something because you think it’s what other people want. Aiden hasn’t said a word about what’s happened since you left Haven Falls and told me not to pry. I’ll respect that because if you want to tell me you will, and I hope someday you do. But until then, I’d like to offer you some free advice.”
My grip on the rolling pin tightens, but I don’t object to hearing what she has to say. I’ve always held on to every word she’s given me.
“Above all else,” she says softly, “choose happiness. Not anybody else’s, but yours. Because at the end of the day, you’ll find a lot more of it when you open yourself up to everything life has to offer when you’re truly content with where you are in it.”
My eyes burn with tears that I try batting away unsuccessfully. I make a gargled noise that has Mrs. Griffith dropping everything she’s doing and pulling me into her. “Oh, sweetie. I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just want you to be happy. I want my baby boy to be happy. And if you both work at it, you can experience so much in this lifetime together.”
I bury my face in her shoulder. “What if I’m not enough? What if I can’t?”
Her fingers cradle the back of my head, combing through my hair and as she shushes me lightly with her melodic voice. “If it’s what you overheard my silly husband say, don’t let it get to your head. You and Aiden have had something special since the day you met. Anyone could see it. And you know how my family is about fate. We’re all believers that if it’s meant to be, it’ll find a way, just like you two found your way back to each other after all this time. Neither of you planned it, certainly not Aiden. Very few things in life are simply coincidences. Don’t write this one off before you have a chance to explore it.”
When she pulls back, she wipes at my cheeks with her thumbs and examines one eye, then the other, and slowly smiles. “Or have you already explored it?” My tear-stained face reddens with heat that she laughs at. “Oh, Ivy. I know better than to believe my son is celibate.”
I choke on my tears knowing I’ll have to add corrupting her son to the list of things I never want her finding out about.
By the time the boys get back, they all walk into the kitchen laughing and joking around about something while Mrs. Griffith and I finish cleaning up the mess we made. The pie is on the counter waiting to be put in after everything else is cooked for the late Thanksgiving meal, and for the first time in too long, I’m excited for the holiday.
Normally the itchy feeling under my skin becomes tenfold this time of year knowing I have nobody to celebrate with. Watching others enjoy it with their families becomes too much, and I never thought making the decision to come here—a last minute one made simply after seeing an ad at a public library I went to hide out in for warmth one evening—would lead to this.