She Stole The Bride

2

Sydney's POV

Travelling with Miley was similar to accompanying a toddler. I saw that sparkle in her eyes everytime she talked about our itinerary. And I was excited about the trip too.

"Mom, Mom, Mom," the flicker of my eyes was met with an over-caffeinated smile, "we're here! Come on, get your scrawny butt up."

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stared knowingly at the crowd in front of us. "I've got at least twenty more minutes of shut eye. Shhh." I placed my finger against her lips and closed my eyes. The fictional waves beckoned for me. And I couldn't imagine not returning to them.

A wave crashed against the shore, and gently brushed against my freshly painted toenails. "Mom!"

"Wha—at?" Startled, annoyed and sleep deprived, I gripped the armrest, as Miley squeezed her way past me and into the aisle.

"Come on, Mom. Let's go. They're going to kick us out!"

"Will they carry me?" My glossy eyes looked at hers. At that moment, I was serious.

"For fuck's sake," Miley yanked our luggage from the overhead bin, "you call me the damn toddler, you frickin' baby."

"Fine, fine." I stretched as I rose from my seat, noticing that we were the only passengers left on the plane. The flight attendants seemed occupied in the front. But one man, layered in the company's colored uniform stared at me with the dullest smile, "I'm sorry. We're leaving."

I followed Miley, not focusing on my surroundings. When we reached baggage claim, a loud yawn escaped my lips. "You can sleep when we're checked in," Miley tells me, annoyed with my sloth-like behavior.

"Sounds nice," my eyes glanced over the crowds and crowds of people. What I loved most about my daughter, and it's a trait that she inherited from her father, was her initiative. I lacked any sense of direction, and most importantly, any ability to lead.

Miley secured the rest of our bags, and led me out of the airport. After an hour of waiting for our rental car, it was finally time for me to contribute to a task.

"I'd do it myself, but you know—"

I responded, "I know," I smiled teasingly at her from the driver's seat, "you can't—"

She raised her hand, "don't even," her glare would have lit me on fire if it could.

"Okay, okay," I began to softly giggle.

"Mom, I'd punch you if you weren't the one driving."

"At least I can drive."

I could feel her stare burning into the side of my face, "pull over, I'll do it myself."

I shook my head frantically, "nope, not a chance. Last time you drove, I thought I was going to see grandpa again!"

"I thought it was the brakes!" Miley threw her hands up and exhaled a loud grumble.

"It was the gas! And you almost killed me on that turn!"

"Don't be dramatic, Mom."

I focused on the road while trying to control my laughter, "I'm not. I'll be your chauffeur for as long as I live. If only you'd stay in the back and be quiet."

Miley responded, "ha, that means I have to pay you. Am I going to get a bigger allowance?" Instead of responding, I took a glance at her beaming face. That's when my chest tightened with fear. Miley and I have always been close. I hoped that her having a step-mom wouldn't change that. "Mom, what are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." The upward curve of my lips struggled to be genuine.

Miley sank deeper into her seat, and pulled her cell phone from her purse, "I made reservations for dinner tonight."

"Looking at the itinerary again?"

"Dad's going to meet us for breakfast tomorrow morning with his new boo, then we have—"

"I know exactly what we're going to do for the next four days. It's embedded in my brain by now."

"Good. That's what I like."

Silence filled the car. I exhaled a relieved breath, reminding myself that I had no reason to worry. Knowing my daughter, she'd never detach herself from my hip, even if I wanted her to. And maybe it wasn't my daughter's love that I was afraid of losing. It might have been his.