28
Jett
The drive into the city limits seems to take twice as long as it used to. It must be because of the black, anxiety-ridden hole growing in the pit of my stomach. This is probably the most impulsive thing I’ve done in at least a month. Now that I think about it, I haven’t had nearly the hair-trigger on my impulses since moving to Havenwood.
Parking in front of a large ranch home complete with a white picket fence, I take a breath and force the anxiety to settle. I need to do this.
You are worthy of love.
You deserve love.
You deserve happiness.
Embrace the chaos.
The last of those repeats in my head, Noah’s voice a soothing reminder that I am strong and capable as I knock on the front door and wait for it to open.
As the rustic door creaks, an older version of me peers around the frame. Same bright-green eyes, same fine, brown hair but with some gray mixed in.
“Jett?” my mother asks, pure confusion lining her face.
“Hey, Mama.” Shifting my weight back and forth, I bite my lip. “Any chance we can talk for a few minutes?”
She shakes off the shock of seeing me on her doorstep for the first time in who knows how long and opens the door wider. “Of course. Sorry, I was expecting it to be the twins and their friend coming home from rehearsals. They left their keys on the counter this morning. Come in. We can chat in the family room.”
As I follow her into the airy room and take a seat on the couch, pictures snag my attention. I never lived here, but the photographic evidence would suggest otherwise. Ones of me and Reece. Family shots of us and both parents. Even more of Anna and Calla, understandably. This house is a place of love. A home.
Just not my home.
My home is an hour away with a man who loves me, lifts me up every day, and pushes me to chase my dreams. Being able to finally recognize that sends a wave of emotion straight to my heart.
Havenwood is my home.
“Jett? Are you alright, sweetie?” Mom’s concerned voice draws my focus back to why I hopped in my car and drove two towns over without much—if any—of a plan.
“Yeah. Sorry, I just got lost in the thought of how good this season of life is turning out to be.” I wait for the usual annoyance of my wandering mind to settle on her face, but it never comes. Instead, a small smile lifts one side of her lips.
“You always did do that. I’m surprised you never wrote your own books. Your imagination certainly was expansive enough.”
My body suddenly feels unbalanced, similar to an anxiety attack. And yet, I know that isn’t what this is. Did I let my emotions and personal struggles color how I viewed my mother’s reactions? That small piece of me that is so used to running at the smallest sign of confrontation itches to book it from this house. Four months ago, I would have. Hell, I wouldn’t have made the drive to see her at all.
Suddenly bashful, I peek through my lashes at my mother. “You would have supported me in something like that? Something that has no guarantee of success?” Worrying at the hem of my shirt, I hold my breath while waiting for her answer.
Whatever she sees in my expression has her moving to the cushion next to me, the leather dipping as she settles in. Mama takes my hands and places them in her lap, covering them with her own. “Jennette Marie, we may have a more…strained…relationship than your brother and I do, but I have and will always support your endeavors. Whatever they may be. Even if they may not pan out how you expect.”
Wringing my hands together as her words hit home, I decide to go for it. It’s now or never, and having both parents on board would make The Write Brew all the more special.
“Here’s the thing, Mama.”
As I fill her in on what Noah, Kelsey, and I have been working toward, the excitement that comes from talking about my passion bubbles to the surface. The ability to talk freely as my mother’s own excitement shines in her eyes erases the last bit of anxiety about sharing this with her.
Maybe I’ve gone years without seeing eye to eye with her. Maybe it was misplaced confusion or just plain old poor communication, but the idea that my mom is proud of what I am accomplishing is the icing on the cake. And I want her to experience the finished project.
“Our ribbon cutting ceremony is two weeks from Saturday. I know the twins may already have plans but—”
Her hand lands on my thigh and squeezes. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Jett. I’ll be there.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and for once, I let them fall. The relief and pure joy at her response sends my emotions into overdrive. As her arms wrap snuggly around me, the quiet sniffles turn to sobs.
“It’s all right, precious. Let it out. Mama’s here,” she murmurs over and over, her fingers expertly running through my hair that she somehow managed to slip from its tie.
I finally run out of tears by the time the door opens and Anna and Calla slip inside with another lithe preteen by their sides. I quickly wipe the remaining tears from my face, but I’m sure the red and swollen look gives it away. To their credit, neither girl mentions it.
“Jett! What are you doing here? Are you staying for dinner?” Calla, the oldest of the two, asks as she slams her body into mine seconds before Anna does the same on my other side. Neither of them can be more than one hundred pounds soaking wet, but their strength is impressive.
“Hey, girls. Wasn’t planning on it, but…” I glance at Mama for guidance.
When she smiles and nods with moisture in her own eyes, I relent.
“I guess driving on a full stomach would be better than eating the crackers in my car.”
The girls squeal as our mom directs them and their friend upstairs to freshen up.
“You just made their day, Jett.”
Shrugging off the thanks, I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I’ll try to do better about coming around. For them, I mean. I know they see Reece pretty regularly.”
“They’d love that, but do what you need to do for you, okay?”
As the three girls run back down the stairs and into the kitchen, we follow the sounds of laughter and prepare a meal… as a family. And when my step-father comes in, we sit and eat the first non-awkward family dinner I’ve had since before my parents’ divorce.
Is it too much to hope that this can become my new normal?