by Ali Parker
She groaned. “I should have listened. I’ll listen next time.”
“You guys know I can still hear you, right?” I rolled my eyes, watching as the city started giving way to untouched wilderness. I loved the transition, how the concrete and noise gave way to the pristine beauty of nature. This was why I had never left this state, why I didn’t want to and had no plans to.
I’d traveled enough to know that other places all had a beauty of their own, but this beauty was the beauty of home. There was nothing like it.
“I’m getting to the relaxing part of the drive now,” I said. “I’ll let you two gossip about me in peace. Call you when I get home.”
“He’s just been away for a week,” I heard my mother saying. “What could he possibly have done while he was away that requires him to need to rela—”
My brother cut the call before she could finish her sentence. I chuckled into the newly silent interior cabin of my car and shook my head. Have fun explaining that one to mommy dearest, brother of mine.
Chapter 2
Maggie
Driving into Spokane really felt like I was finally coming home—which I was, so I supposed there was a good reason for the feeling. I’d been worried that the years I’d spent living in New York would make me feel like an out-of-place transplant here, but seeing the river running right through downtown and the abundance of green space all around, I wondered how I’d ever felt at home in the city that never slept.
“Why are we moving in with Memaw, Mommy?” Lydia asked, repeating the question for what felt like the millionth time since we’d left New York.
In true five-year-old fashion, she kept interrogating me like she expected the answer to change any moment now. My lips curled into a smile. “We’re moving in with Memaw because she misses you and she loves spoiling you.” It wasn’t a lie exactly. “Plus, everything in New York is just so expensive. It will be better here.”
Fingers crossed, anyway.
As much as I didn’t want to lie to Lydia, she was too young to understand the complete truth of why we were really moving back to the home I’d grown up in.
If you weren’t five, it was actually very simple. Being a single mom in the big city, armed with a degree in fashion but no real experience, made it difficult to get a decent-paying job.
When I first moved there after high school, I had stars in my eyes and a head full of plans and dreams. I’d always known it wasn’t going to be easy to make it there as a fashion designer, but I figured I had as good a chance as anyone else.
Unfortunately, neither the stars in my eyes or the dreams kept me from making one life-altering decision that derailed my original plans in the blink of an eye. Or more accurately, in as much time as it takes for that second line to appear on the pregnancy test. What was it again? Five minutes? Three?
Lydia had been entirely unplanned, but she’d never for even one second been unwanted. Not by me, anyway.
The man who had donated the sperm that helped me conceive her was a different story, though. He didn’t even stick around for long enough to hear the entire word pregnant before he ran for the hills and never looked back.
And so the stars faded and became replaced with a single-minded determination to become the best mom I could be. I kept my feet planted firmly in reality and focused my plans and dreams on the little mustard seed I didn’t even yet know was going to be a little girl.
I had still gotten a job in fashion, just not necessarily in the way I’d envisioned. After Lydia was born, I got a job working as a sales assistant in a department store. The clothing I sold was more casual than couture, and I didn’t really need my degree to be able to do the job, but it paid the bills and kept food on our table.
Those first few years after Lydia was born had been brutal, but I’d survived. What I hadn’t been anticipating at the time was the rising cost of childcare and education, the additional needs Lydia would have as she got older, and how I had zero support system over there to help me out.
Cue the phone call from my mother just over a month ago. I’d just gotten a quote to have my car fixed. It was more than I could afford. My landlord had informed me the week before that my rent was going up, and to make matters worse, Lydia desperately wanted to start ballet.
I had been drowning, and not in the glass of pity-wine I’d poured for myself from the box that had been in the fridge for way too long. Then Mom said the magic words. Why don’t you move back home, sweetheart?
I’d turned her down at first, of course. Pride jumped in and said no before I could even think about it, but then pride had gone back to the hole it had crawled out of when our cable was cut the next day and we’d had ramen noodles for dinner for the fourth night in a row.
With my tail between my legs, I’d called her back, apologized profusely, and asked her if her offer still stood. That was how I’d ended up moving back to my hometown nine years after I’d thought I was leaving it for good.
“Why is it going to be better here, Mommy?” Lydia’s vibrant green eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. She’d gotten those from me, even if hers did have a few brown flecks in them that mine didn’t. “Jeremy said New York was the best city in the world.”
I rolled my eyes. Jeremy, the snot-nosed little weasel, was a kid who had been in Lydia’s class. He was the type of kid who was just destined to become that guy in high school.
Everyone knew the type: thought he was better than everyone else, knew everything, was naturally good at sports, had parents who were richer than God, and had even five-year-old girls wrapped around his bony little finger.
Yeah, that guy. The Noah flipping Sims of Lydia’s generation. Thank God we left before she fell for him.
“That’s because Jeremy’s never been to Spokane,” I said. “Jeremy also doesn’t have the best Memaw in the world waiting for him in Spokane.”
“I guess.” Lydia rocked her head from side to side, doubt still shining from her eyes, even as she shrugged. “Are we there yet?”
“Almost.” I flipped the blinker on and turned down the tree-lined street where I’d learned how to ride a bike. It was also the same street where I’d first skinned my knee—about a minute and a half after learning how to ride a bike.
I’d even had my first kiss under the mightiest native giant of Washington state trees, the Sitka Spruce that Mom had refused to cut down after said first kiss eventually culminated in first heartbreak.
Despite the fact that it had happened more than half my life ago, I still scowled at the tree as I pulled into my mother’s drive.
The purple-painted front door banged open, and my mom came barreling through it. “You’re here! It’s about time. Do you still drive like an octogenarian?”
Home, sweet home. A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I yanked the door handle and climbed out of the car. “You’re one to talk. It took us thirty minutes to get to the market that one time.”
“It’s called being safe,” Mom said with a flick of her wrist, rushing to Lydia’s door to help her out of her car seat. “Here’s Memaw’s little angel. It’s about time. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
As soon as the buckles were undone, Lydia clambered into my mother’s arms and hung on like a lost koala. “Memaw!”
There were many sloppy kisses planted on cheeks and lips and heads before Mom and I shouldered all the luggage we could carry in one go and headed inside. I didn’t know if I would ever reach an age where my mother’s house didn’t smell like home, but even if I eventually would, I hadn’t reached it yet.
Most people might’ve thought that homes smelled like freshly baked cookies and flowers, but Gayle Hampton had always done things her own way. Home to me smelled like freshly brewed coffee so strong that a spoon could stand up in it, incense, and oil paints.
I inhaled deeply, letting my bags drop in the entrance hall. My mother shooed Lydia inside before turning to shoot me a look. “You’d better not be planning on leaving those there, young lady.”<
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“I’m twenty-eight, Mom. I’m hardly a young lady anymore.”
She rolled her green eyes, still so pretty despite the lines around them, and winked. “Talk to me again when you hit your fifties. Now, where did that grandchild of mine run off to?”
Moving at a fast clip despite the bags she was carrying weighing her down, she disappeared around the corner muttering something about how having a child in the house again was going to keep her on her toes.
I smiled.
This wasn’t how I’d planned for my life to turn out, but being home wasn’t all bad. Mom had painted every wall in this house herself and repainted them in vivid colors whenever she felt like a change.
Sometimes, the background colors would be neutral, and there would be murals stretching from the entrance hall, all the way through the house. Other times, all the walls would be orange or purple or, for one horrible month in my teens, bright lime green.
Knowing that we were coming must have made her feel calm because for now, all the walls were painted in pastel shades. The house was small enough that Mom could change it on a whim. Despite being small, though, it felt spacious inside thanks to Mom. Mirrors and clever angles made it feel a lot bigger than it was.
It was a double story, and Mom used to tell us when we were kids that we slept on the second story because then we were closer to the angels watching over us. Tilting my head back as I made my way through the familiar space, I wondered if that was true, if Ryan was one of those angels watching over us now.
I flinched at the pain that barreled through me at the mere thought he was an angel now, that he wasn’t waiting around one of the corners to try and scare me.
Carefully putting my pain back in its box to delve into later, I focused on the house instead. On the first story was the kitchen, living room, dining room and a guest bathroom. Our backyard was small, but when Mom wasn’t painting, she was gardening.
As I walked to the staircase leading up to the second story and all three bedrooms, I saw her immaculate flower beds through the bay window in the living room. This time of year with fall in the air, the color in her backyard didn’t come from the flowers but from the leaves.
It was beautiful. Multiple hues of yellow and orange and brown reminded me of hours spent out there, carving pumpkins for Halloween and being pushed into the beds of leaves by Ryan or Noah. Or that one time Noah—
No. No. No. No. No. Sooooooo not going there.
Adjusting the bag’s strap over my shoulder so it didn’t feel like my bra was biting into my flesh, I headed upstairs and tried to shut down my brain. Now wasn’t the time to go strolling down memory lane to visit either my brother or his best friend.
While I unpacked the essentials, Mom and Lydia built a puzzle in front of a roaring fire in the living room. The sun was starting to set, and that unmistakable chill of the end of fall was in the air.
I joined them when I was done, flopping onto the plastic-covered couch. “I can’t believe you’ve still got these covered.”
“Only finished painting last week,” Mom said without looking up from the puzzle. “If it bothers you so much, you take it off. I haven’t gotten around to uncovering everything yet.”
“I’ll do it. Don’t worry.” I meant it.
We hadn’t moved here to be a burden on my mother. I planned on doing whatever I could around the house and to help her with anything she asked. She was a salt of the earth personality. I wouldn’t take advantage of that.
“You won’t have to give us room and board for too long,” I said. “I’m going to start looking for a new job tomorrow. We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
“Don’t you dare think about moving too soon.” She glanced up at me, then back at Lydia. “There’s a swing set with your name on it out back. Want to go give it a whirl before it gets dark out?”
“Can I?” Lydia’s gaze snapped to mine, her eyes round and pleading. “Please, Mommy?”
I sighed, knowing I was about to have the talk with my mother. It was probably best to get it out of the way, though. “Sure, but go grab a jacket and your beanie from your room first.”
Jumping up, she nearly knocked the puzzle from the coffee table in her haste to get out of the room. Presumably, she thought I would change my mind if she waited too long. When I heard her moving around upstairs, I nodded at my mother. “Out with it. I know that was a tactic to give us a few minutes alone.”
My mother pulled her glasses from her nose, letting them dangle from her fingertips. “I just wanted to find out how you were feeling about moving back.”
“I thought that might be it.” I let my head roll back to stare at the ceiling as I lifted my shoulders. “New York just wasn’t for me anymore. It was too difficult to have a career in fashion and a five-year-old at home. I guess I failed, huh?”
“Nonsense.” She frowned. “You’ll find your footing here, sweetheart. There’s no such thing as failure. Life is just trying to move you in a different direction.”
“Oprah again?” I smiled.
Mom shrugged. “That woman knows a thing or two about life. You’d do well to listen to her.”
It took some convincing, but I finally forced my head to nod. “Sure. Yeah. Life is just trying to move me in a different direction.”
I held her gaze for another beat before sliding mine away. Unfortunately, avoiding her knowing eyes just brought me face to face with someone else I didn’t really have the strength to look in the eye right now.
On top of the mantel were family pictures in heavy frames. My brother’s hazel eyes stared unblinkingly into mine from the largest photograph of them all.
His light brown hair was tousled after a day at the river, his skin tanned and his signature grin spread wide. Head thrown back slightly as he laughed, it had always felt like that image perfectly captured the person he had been.
Easygoing. Carefree. Genuine.
I felt tears prickling at the back of my eyes and looked away. Ryan had been gone for six years now, but it was still hard to look at pictures of him, knowing I would never see him again.
Just like one decision had resulted in an unalterable life change for me, one decision had ripped his life away from him. One left turn and a busted traffic light had stolen him away from us forever.
Mom must have followed my gaze because the next thing I knew, she was sitting next to me. Her hand came down on mine, and her soft fingers squeezed. “He was always so proud of you, you know. He’d have been thrilled to have you back in town.”
“I know,” I said, but I didn’t know if I really believed her. No one would have been proud of me for striking out as badly as I had, not even my brother.
Mom changed the topic after that. I went outside to watch Lydia who eventually came inside when it got too cold and dark to be outside, and we all sat down to dinner. Our new normal.
It was going to take a while to get used to it, but at least we’d be eating home-cooked meals that weren’t ramen noodles while we did. Lydia crawled into my bed after I put her to sleep in her own, but I didn’t mind.
I opened my covers for her and pulled her little body close to mine. “You’re the only person I need to be happy, baby girl.”
My lips moved the hair at the back of her head, and I felt her nod against them. “I know, Mommy. You too. Love you.”
“Love you too, baby.” I might have screwed up a lot of things in my life, but Lydia would always be the one thing I had gotten totally right.
This move would be good for her. Despite the memories I would have to face, the knowledge that I was back because I hadn’t been able to make it on my own, and the inevitable judgment I would receive for living at home at twenty-eight, the only thing that mattered to me was Lydia’s happiness.
I would put her before anything and everything. Always had, always would. I didn’t even really care that my fashion career was a pile of ashes I’d left behind in a department store in New York. I would keep drawing, keep designin
g. But it would be for myself now, not for the world to see.
Maybe once in a while, late at night, I’d let my mind wander to a place where my designs had come to life. Where they were no longer contained to my sketchbook but were walking down the runway instead.
I’d go to that place for a little while, but then I’d come back to the life I had chosen for myself and Lydia. I couldn’t have it both ways in real life: a career in fashion and my life with her. There was no two ways about it for me, though.
Given a choice, I would always choose Lydia. Nothing else mattered.
Chapter 3
Noah
When I made my first million dollars, I bought my mother a house.
She promptly rented it out.
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but I didn’t even think she’d gone to look at it again after her first visit with me on the day that I’d surprised her with the keys.
Anyone who looked at my mom’s house would never have guessed that her son was a billionaire now, considering its location, size, and age. If they knew, they probably thought I was a rat bastard who’d forgotten all about his family once he’d made his money. They’d be right on the rat bastard score, but not because I’d forgotten about my family. I could never forget about them. They simply didn’t want my help or my money.
Jordan and Della both had houses in their names too, but like Mom, they chose to live here. It made sense for Jordan, since Mom looked after Della while he worked. She went to school, but Mom picked her up from school and watched her until Jordan got home.
Offering to get a nanny to help her with Della had been a disaster. Mom had looked at me with that look only moms could give, the look that still made me feel like I was the five-year-old in question and that I was a five-year-old who was in serious trouble to boot.
“I didn’t have a nanny helping me with you and your brother, so why would I need one now?” she’d said. “Della’s an angel after what you two put me through, and you still turned out okay.”
