“I do hate that you’re leaving, though. I’m worried I’ll never see you again. That this tiny, tiny town will swallow you up and keep you.”
I smiled weakly. His concerns weren’t entirely unfounded. Southport had a gravity about it that made it difficult to leave.
Was it Southport?
Or was it the people who lived there?
And by people, I mean one person specifically?
Nope. I wouldn’t think about him. I refused to. I wouldn’t allow his face, his smile, his eyes, to take up any space in my mind.
He had given up that right ten years ago when he had chosen to be with Chelsea Sloane.
“I won’t be gone forever. We have shared custody of Sunny and Lola, remember?” I poked him in the side, trying not to show him the dread I was feeling.
Damien kissed the tip of my nose before giving a strand of my bright red hair a tug. “I’m holding you to that.” He smacked my ass and gave me a playful shove toward my car. “Now get going. Traffic is going to be a nightmare if you wait much longer to leave. Lincoln Tunnel is a bitch any time of day.”
I sighed heavily. I couldn’t help it. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d better head out.” I paused for a moment to soak in the last bit of my busy, congested neighborhood. I loved the city. I loved the noise and endless movement. I loved the honking horns and lights that burned through the night. It was hard to find quiet places in New York City.
I had grown up far away from the hustle and bustle and craved it with every breath. Now I was going back to the place I had run from. It felt all sorts of wrong. Like going backward.
I got into my beat-up Toyota Prius with the daisy air freshener hanging from the mirror. With a final wave at Damien, I pulled out into the thick line of cars, steadily making my way back home.
Not sure what would be waiting for me once I got there.
**
“There you are! I was getting ready to call out the cavalry!”
Mom was waiting in the driveway when I pulled in front of the house a little after five o’clock. It had taken me close to four hours to drive home due to a seven-mile back up on I-95. Nothing like sitting in gridlock to put you in a good mood.
“Sorry, there were a bunch of accidents on the highway. I would have been here hours ago if not for that.” I had barely gotten out of the car when I was enveloped in a rose-scented hug. I melted a little at the familiarity of my mother’s smell. My chest tightened, and my eyes burned. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her hugs until that moment.
She pulled back, patting my cheek lovingly. “You’re too skinny, my darling. You haven’t been eating enough.”
I pushed a wayward strand of hair out of my eyes and grinned at the concern on my mother’s face. She always said the same thing, even when I had gained the freshman ten my first three months at Pittsburgh College. She was a mother first and foremost, so the worry was ingrained in her marrow.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the same weight I was when I saw you at Easter,” I assured her, closing the driver’s side door.
She looped her arm with mine and walked me to the bright blue front door. It was still the same color after all these years. My dad had decided to paint it the brightest blue he could find.
“We need to stand out. No sense being dull when you can shine, Meg.”
It was my dad’s creative love of color that had propelled my own passion for art. Even though he had worked for the county for thirty years and was an avid sportsman, his first love was drawing and painting. He’d spend hours on the weekend, his fingers covered in charcoal, as he created picture after picture. I had loved watching him work, his brow furrowed, his lip tucked between his teeth in concentration.
“Well, I think you’ve lost weight. A mother knows these things.” Mom patted my arm. “Still gorgeous, though.” Her compliment hit me straight in the heart.
“You’re a bit biased, Mom.” I leaned down to kiss the top of her head, noting how much greyer her hair was now than it had been even a few months ago. Worry lines were etched on her face as though they had been chiseled