“Me wanting this.” I point to the old house. “Isn’t about getting away from you, it’s about finding me.”
She brings our laced fingers to her lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Are you sure? I mean, I know I haven’t always been the mother you deserve.” Her voice cracks, and so does the corner of my heart that belongs to her. “And if you hated me, I wouldn’t blame you.”
We’ve been through this, over and over again, but my mother is the kind of woman who needs constant reassurance. It’s why Paul is perfect for her. He wants someone he can dote on and her only aspiration in life is to be doted on. “I forgive you. I forgive him,” I say, tilting my head to the house. “I love you. I love him. You’ve had me for eight years. I think it’s only fair he gets the summer.”
“I know. I just…” She twists her wedding band around her finger and munches on her bottom lip. “I just worry about you.”
“Momma, I’m eighteen, and I’m going to be moving halfway across the country for school; I think I can survive one summer in Newton.”
“Okay, then I worry about me. What am I going to do all summer without you? Then next year?” Her pale blue eyes gloss over and somehow the emotion in them makes her even more beautiful.
“Mom, you’re being dramatic.”
“I will never forgive myself for leaving you then, and doing it now brings up a bunch of stuff that I wasn’t prepared to deal with.”
“You came back. I survived. It’s in the past,” I insist.
“Then why are you doing this?”
I don’t tell her that I’d questioned it myself a thousand times before I’d ever even brought it up to her. I definitely don’t tell her that the nightmares have never really gone away. I can’t because, for as much as my mother’s changed in the last eight years, some things never will. So, instead of giving her the ammunition she’s looking for to pull the plug on this entire thing, I say the one thing she can’t argue with. “He’s my dad.”
Her shoulders slump in defeat, just as the front door swings open and Dad and Gran spill out with goofy grins on their faces. My heart warms at the sight of them. This is why you’re doing this, I remind myself. I need to break up the monotony of my life and hopefully in doing so, I can reconnect with my dad and my muse.
I jump out of the car and race into his arms. He catches me and swings me around like he did when I was younger. “Missed you like crazy, kiddo.”
“I saw you last week at graduation.” I grin up at him. His tired eyes crinkle at the corners, and there’s a sprinkling of gray in his five o’clock shadow. I’ve known many versions of this man over the years, but I think this one is my favorite. He’s calmer than he used to be. Happier, too.
“Yeah, but this time I get you all to myself.” He eyes the car warily, and I assume he’s looking for Paul.
“He stayed home,” I whisper.
Last week was the first time the three of us had all been together in years and though Daddy’s been sober for a little over two years now, Momma never quite let her guard down. It was also the first time Daddy met Paul, and that went about as well as duels went for the Hamilton family. Although, no one was actually shot and Gran only referred to Momma as that blonde floozy four times, so I guess that in and of itself is a miracle.
“I can’t believe I finally got you here for the summer.” Daddy exhales like he’s been holding his breath on whether or not I’d actually turn up here today.
I glance around my old neighborhood, trying to decide if it’s always been so…sad. When I was a kid this block was my favorite place on earth. Then again, Momma always says I’ve been cursed to look at life through rose colored glasses. I argued that it’s what makes me a good artist (at least it did before my muse packed her metaphorical shit and hightailed it out of my life). She says it’s what’s going to leave me heartbroken one day, but I’d rather take a broken heart than marry a guy who loves me more than I love him to protect my ego.
“Veronica." Momma clears her throat, and we turn towards her in unison. “I should get on the road…before it gets too dark.”
Dad eyes Momma up and down like she’s a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. Over the years they’d gone from loving each other to hating each other to this weird faux civility that I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to. “There’s plenty of room here,” he says, thumbing towards the house, “if you wanted to stay the night and head out in the morning.”
“No,” she says a little too quickly. “I mean. No thank you. Paul is expecting me back tonight.”
Daddy mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like I bet he is, and I slap him in the chest.
“Be nice,” I admonish. Walking around the car, I wrap my mother in a hug. “Love you.”
“Love you, Ladybug.” She squeezes me tight. Her perfume, a fruity floral scent that she’s worn for as long as I’ve been alive, greets me, and I sink deeper into her arms. “I’m going to call you every day.”
“Momma, I’m fine. You’re a newlywed. Enjoy life.”
“You are my life.”
“And you two are dramatic.” Dad rolls his eyes as he pries us apart. “You’ve had her for the last eight years. I get three months, and my time starts now.”
“Fine,” Momma huffs. She slips on her sunglasses and points the key fob towards the trunk of her SUV. The hatchback glides open and Daddy goes around to retrieve my bags. “Take care of our girl.”
“Always.”
“That’s debatable,” Momma snips.
“Mother!”
“What?” She shrugs innocently. “It’s true.”
I shake my head at her. “I love you. Drive safe, and call me when you’ve made it.”
“I will.” She gives me one last hug and then gets into the car. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
Dad and I stand, watching as she rounds the corner out of view. “That woman.” He groans.
“Will you two come on,” Gran says from the porch. “Food’s getting cold.”
“She made a feast.” Dad smirks.
“Meatballs?” I arch a brow.
“Enough to feed an army.”
“YASSS!” I squeal. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper home cooked meal. Momma’s idea of cooking is serving takeout on porcelain plates.
Dad shoulders my duffle, and I slip on my book bag and follow him up the rickety porch stairs. My eyes wander to the house next door. It’s dark and doesn’t look like anyone’s home.
“Do the Tedesco’s still live there?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Dad answers, holding the door open for me. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing Devin around this summer.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. “I hope so.”
2
Chapter 2
Roni Age 9
“Veronica Rose, you better not get that dress dirty before the photographer gets here!” Momma yells, as the screen door slams shut behind me.