Waindale

forty-three. broken conversation

"Call if you need anything, okay? We're always here if you need us," my mom says, standing in the doorway. I glance back and her and nod before walking down the porch steps. My bag is fuller now than yesterday—I grabbed a few things. Unlike the first time, I didn't take clothes or shampoo or toothpaste; I took the picture of my mom and me from my desk. The carved necklace of the moon goddess that I was gifted is stashed inside as well.

Adam's truck is parked along the side of the road. My mom waves to him, and he waves back. It's better this way. Whenever my two worlds come together, there is always some sort of misunderstanding. There can never be a perfect translation, so maybe a wave and a smile are good enough. I peer back again when I get to the car door. My mom doesn't close the front door until Adam starts his truck, but once it's closed, I know it's time to switch to the other side of me.

"How was it?" Adam asks.

"Um, it was okay."

"Tired? You can take a nap when we get back."

I look away when his eyes find mine. There isn't a bone in my body that wants to tell him that I slept just fine. "Yeah," I murmur, "I will."

When we arrive back at the house, Ben is there waiting for him. I leave the two and head to the bedroom with my bag. A sense of comfort swallows me as I walk in as if I've been away on vacation for weeks and I'm finally home again. I drop my bag on the bed and take out my picture frame. It's sat on the table against my side of the bed, and along with it, the moon goddess necklace is strung on the corner of the headboard. I put my bag away and lay down. My breath lightens and my body sinks into the mattress, but no matter how long I wait, I know I won't be falling asleep any time soon.

I remember when I first came into this room; Adam's scent bombarded me. It's different now—the scent is still there, but I've acclimated to it. I suppose there are quite a few things that I've gotten used to, like the feeling I get in my chest when I see him. My heart throbbed in the beginning, and now it's settled to a sense of relief. It's as if life before him weighed on me—a discomfort I thought nothing of—but when I'm with him, the weight is lifted. I can breathe easier.

We started all of this because we needed each other so badly. I fear that the more like my father I become, the less I'll need Adam.

Footsteps grow in the hall outside the door, and my head lifts off the pillow. A part of me is relieved—I don't want to be stuck waiting here.

Adam comes through and I sit up eagerly. With just one glance at this face, my smile falls.

"Sorry to bother you, I know you're tired," he says, speaking swiftly, "but I had to tell you now."

"What is it?"

"My family is coming back."

Five words I knew would come eventually. A part of me wished they decided to live somewhere else and simply forgot to give notice. Is it evil of me to want his family to leave us alone?

"Oh," I blurt without much ready behind it.

Adam's eyes soften but his face remains still. He looks at me for a moment before saying, "I know. They'll be back in town, but this is still our place, okay? She won't bother you here."

It's funny how he doesn't need to say the word 'mother' for me to know who he's referring to. I've gotten over the fact that she'll never approve of me or like me or understand Adam's decision to stay with me, but that doesn't mean I want her around.

"You promise? Promise that we're safe here," I insist. "Promise that she won't be barging in and dragging me out."

"This is our house, Wrenley," he says while looking into my eyes. "Ours. She knows that."