As I trudge through the kitchen with my last suitcase and a duffel, I catch my mom’s eye. She's just standing at the counter staring at me with her chin tilted.
She smiles wistfully, her eyes dancing over my features, hair, shoulders. She looks like she's memorizing me, like a Polaroid snapshot.
“I wish we had more time together,” I say awkwardly, setting my stuff down on the floor. “Maybe when you're done in Wyoming you can come back and stay a while?”
She smiles, nodding.
“I'm sorry about the college thing,” I explain in a rush. I feel like this might be my last chance to actually put it all into words. She probably doesn't expect it, but still, I think I need to hear it out loud.
“I gave it a good try, you know? But it's just not for me. Not like that anyway. Not finance and marketing. Nobody really gets me there. I'm always on the outside of everybody's social circles… and I can't seem to find a way in.”
She shrugs, tapping the counter with her fingertips.
“I did try,” I say defensively. “I had a roommate, girls in my dorm. I don't think friendships would have made a difference anyway. It just wasn't an environment that held any value for me, Mom. There's nothing I can do about that.”
She turns around, opening cabinet doors to reassure herself they’re empty. I just wait for her to look at me again. When she finally does, her expression is almost blank. Maybe a little sad, but mostly blank.
“It's your life,” she says suddenly, taking me aback. “Whatever you decide, Vanessa, it's yours. Make the most of it. That's all your dad and I would ever ask you to do.”
Then she smiles, her face youthful and sincere. She looks like me, like I’m looking in the mirror. I rush across the kitchen to her, hugging her tightly and fighting back not-exactly-happy, not-exactly sad tears.
With a wave, I disengage myself and grab my stuff, then hightail it out of the house before I have a chance to linger too long. That feels like a completely satisfactory end to a chapter with my mother. I’ve just gotten her approval and maybe even a small admission that I have at least a little bit on the ball.
My dad is conspicuously loitering near the Subaru and takes my stuff for me to put in the trunk. He gives me a wistful grin and gentle squeeze of my shoulder.
“It's not too late, you know,” he mumbles. “You could come to Wyoming? Maybe not to your grandma’s, and not back to school either? But a new adventure with us?”
“Aw, Dad, I think I have my adventure all mapped out,” I sigh, wrapping my arms around his middle and squeezing him tight. He dips his head to kiss me on my hair, then sighs deeply.
“Yeah, I guess that was just wishful thinking,” he admits. “That's what I get for raising an independent thinker! You are just gonna do what you want anyway, right?”
“You bet I am,” I tell him.
In is eyes, I see pride mixed with disappointment. I hope he comes out on the pride side. But I can't solve this for him. Suddenly I feel like I need to be away, like I need to be really on my own. I pop a kiss on his cheek and get my butt in the car, ready to roll down the driveway and up through orchard, back to my little cabin.
Still, it feels like they’re miles behind me. It's just a symbolic gesture, I suppose, but I'm finally doing what I want to do, on my own terms. I'm finally moving forward with a life I can call my own. Not some cookie-cutter version of life, but something exciting, something daring and thrilling…
Am I really ready for this?
I hold my stuff back into the cabin, half amazed at how everything just seems to fit in its own niche. There's even a space for my guitar on the hearth. There's even a bookshelf that's just right for the books that I brought. Everything slots into place, like it was meant to be.
Here in this fairytale cabin, I feel like I'm on the verge of something new. Like I'm in the first chapter of a brand-new story, one where I am the star. The heroine and the princess. The magical fairy and the sorceress all at once. I make any kind of future I want.
And what do I want?
With a happy sigh, I flip open the chrome tabs on my guitar case and pull it out. It's a beautiful Yamaha, slim bodied with a cream finish. I take it to the front porch and sit in the bench with my feet up on the rail. It settles into my lap like a pet, like a familiar dog, warm and ticklish under my fingertips.
It feels like I have haven't touched it in ages. My fingers move over the fretboard, dancing over the shapes of chords, plucking out simple melodies one right after another until the air is filled with the sound of music.
It's absolute joy, this simple freedom. This liberty to make something of my own, with my own hands. Something as complicated as music, yet as simple as music.
I'm ready. Whatever comes next, I’m ready for it.
Chapter 11
Tim
“I think we should just invite her to dinner and see what happens,” I shrug, keeping an eye on my brothers for their reactions. Tom shrugs automatically, and I see Charlie and Stan nod. Hank takes a deep breath and holds it in, before letting it out as he rips at the chainsaw cord again.