broke through the moment by tugging my hand and announcing we were late for an important event.
“Um, yeah, we have to go. It was good seeing you, Jackson. I hope you and Max, uh, your son, have been well.”
“Wait, Meryl, let’s exchange numbers.” Jackson reached out a hand as Mom shook her head and skirted his grasp, trailing after Pops and me. “Don’t, Meryl. Not again…” His plea was almost a whisper in the wind.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.”
The alarm clock sounded, but all I could hear were those seven words rolling around and around within the clutches of the dream, but more recently, in my very own walk down the hellish path that was memory lane.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.” I squeezed my eyes together tight, trying not to remember.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.” Her voice was soft, sounding almost like a song.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.” The scent of her perfume swirled through the air of my bedroom long after she’d gone.
“Mia, my darling…” I vaguely remembered her petting my forehead while I clung to sleep, only ten years old with my princess-themed comforter, too hot, but tucked tight around me. She kissed my hairline and whispered those very same words. “It’s for the best. You’re better off.”
That was when my mother left and never came back. For a long time, I’d blocked that memory, thinking it wasn’t real, that I’d imagined it. The same way I’d blown off the dreams about the boy and his father. Only they weren’t dreams. They were memories, ones that made one thing clear as day.
I knew Maxwell Cunningham and his father knew my mother.
Chapter Eight
“ M ax , we need to talk,” I said as I entered the kitchen. Cyndi was making a big belly breakfast, complete with pancakes, bacon, and eggs. My stomach growled loudly as the scent of bacon wafted around the kitchen.
Cyndi pointed to an empty plate at the table while Max loaded it up full of all the fixings. I sat like an elephant—my legs, too tired from holding the weight of my burdens, collapsed beneath me. “Here, eat. We do need to explain a few things,” he said gruffly.
Before I could start, Cyndi interrupted. “Now, I know you’re probably mad,” she started while setting down a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. With an efficiency I knew I’d never had, she plopped in two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of cream, remembering exactly how I took my coffee. Things like that added to her overall lovely nature. She paid attention to the small things. The little tidbits that made a person feel comfortable, like how they took their coffee in the morning. “I’ll start by saying I’m sorry,” Cyndi announced.
“No, you’re not,” I stated plain as day, watching her face closely to see if there truly was even a speck of remorse.
Her blue eyes rolled, and she stopped and pressed a hand to her belly, the egg crusted spatula hovering in the air in the other hand. “You’re right. I’m not sorry. You need your sister here, and we need to meet them.”
They needed to meet them. That was the part that threw me for a loop. “Why? What goes on between me and my sister has nothing to do with you or your husband or his business.” I glanced at Max and he looked down, doing a great job of avoiding the conversation and pushing his uneaten eggs around his plate. Max not shoveling the food down his gullet was another thing that stuck out. The man liked to eat. Meaning, every time I’d ever seen him eat, he’d clear two plates of food before anyone else in the near vicinity could remotely finish one.
Max sighed deeply, his entire body heaving with the effort. “We’ve come to care a great deal for you, Mia. Can you just accept that and let the rest go?”
I huffed, picked up a fat slice of bacon, and shoved it in my mouth. The crisp texture and salty, meaty goodness flowed over my taste buds like a blanket of perfection. Bacon.
“Um, yeah, we have to go. It was good seeing you, Jackson. I hope you and Max, uh, your son, have been well.”
“Wait, Meryl, let’s exchange numbers.” Jackson reached out a hand as Mom shook her head and skirted his grasp, trailing after Pops and me. “Don’t, Meryl. Not again…” His plea was almost a whisper in the wind.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.”
The alarm clock sounded, but all I could hear were those seven words rolling around and around within the clutches of the dream, but more recently, in my very own walk down the hellish path that was memory lane.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.” I squeezed my eyes together tight, trying not to remember.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.” Her voice was soft, sounding almost like a song.
“It’s for the best. You’re better off.” The scent of her perfume swirled through the air of my bedroom long after she’d gone.
“Mia, my darling…” I vaguely remembered her petting my forehead while I clung to sleep, only ten years old with my princess-themed comforter, too hot, but tucked tight around me. She kissed my hairline and whispered those very same words. “It’s for the best. You’re better off.”
That was when my mother left and never came back. For a long time, I’d blocked that memory, thinking it wasn’t real, that I’d imagined it. The same way I’d blown off the dreams about the boy and his father. Only they weren’t dreams. They were memories, ones that made one thing clear as day.
I knew Maxwell Cunningham and his father knew my mother.
Chapter Eight
“ M ax , we need to talk,” I said as I entered the kitchen. Cyndi was making a big belly breakfast, complete with pancakes, bacon, and eggs. My stomach growled loudly as the scent of bacon wafted around the kitchen.
Cyndi pointed to an empty plate at the table while Max loaded it up full of all the fixings. I sat like an elephant—my legs, too tired from holding the weight of my burdens, collapsed beneath me. “Here, eat. We do need to explain a few things,” he said gruffly.
Before I could start, Cyndi interrupted. “Now, I know you’re probably mad,” she started while setting down a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. With an efficiency I knew I’d never had, she plopped in two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of cream, remembering exactly how I took my coffee. Things like that added to her overall lovely nature. She paid attention to the small things. The little tidbits that made a person feel comfortable, like how they took their coffee in the morning. “I’ll start by saying I’m sorry,” Cyndi announced.
“No, you’re not,” I stated plain as day, watching her face closely to see if there truly was even a speck of remorse.
Her blue eyes rolled, and she stopped and pressed a hand to her belly, the egg crusted spatula hovering in the air in the other hand. “You’re right. I’m not sorry. You need your sister here, and we need to meet them.”
They needed to meet them. That was the part that threw me for a loop. “Why? What goes on between me and my sister has nothing to do with you or your husband or his business.” I glanced at Max and he looked down, doing a great job of avoiding the conversation and pushing his uneaten eggs around his plate. Max not shoveling the food down his gullet was another thing that stuck out. The man liked to eat. Meaning, every time I’d ever seen him eat, he’d clear two plates of food before anyone else in the near vicinity could remotely finish one.
Max sighed deeply, his entire body heaving with the effort. “We’ve come to care a great deal for you, Mia. Can you just accept that and let the rest go?”
I huffed, picked up a fat slice of bacon, and shoved it in my mouth. The crisp texture and salty, meaty goodness flowed over my taste buds like a blanket of perfection. Bacon.
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