Chapter 2
Mia
“The fog may blur the path, but the land beneath
remains the same.”
-The Forest-
I take a quick look back at the house while Dad puts my suitcase in the trunk. Everything looks the same except for the flowers on the porch, they are not as bright as before. My mom used to water them every morning. I can still picture her sitting there, sipping her cafe au lait, with a fresh croissant on the side from the only French bakery that she loved.
My dad would wake up early in the morning just to get them for her before work. I have to admit, sometimes I wish he loved me as much as he loves her, or maybe he loves me in his own way.
The sound of the trunk closing snaps me back to the present, and I turn around to face him.
“Are you sure about this?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Yes, Papa.” I nod. Papa is what I used to call him as a little girl. Now it feels a little foreign. “You said I had a summer to figure this out, right? That’s what I’m doing.” I don’t tell him about the box that I found in Mom’s office, and how she booked that cabin for me. It was as if she knew I was going to need it. She always knew what I wanted before I did. You can call it Mother’s intuition.
He takes a slow, steadying breath before his lips part. “Be careful, and Rylee is meeting you there, right?”
“I’ll be careful, and yes, she is meeting me there.” Another white lie. Rylee, my best friend, was supposed to come with me, but she got this marketing internship job that she’s been wanting at one of the top marketing firms in New york. They wanted her to start right away. She’s worked so hard for this, I’m thrilled for her.
My dad rarely shows his emotions, so moments like this feel different. He hugs me, and I melt into him. His hugs are the best. I've missed them.
“I love you, Papa,” I say into his chest, even though we don’t always understand each other.
“I love you too, sweetheart.” He kisses my forehead, and warmth washes over me. The scent of his aftershave and his laundry detergent wraps around me, taking me back to when I was a little girl. I’ve missed those moments, and I hate how our relationship has changed over the years.
When I went away for college, we barely talked. I only came back home because my mom got sick.
He pulls away and shoves his hand into his pocket.
In the car, I settle into the driver’s seat. The cool leather presses against my back as I run my fingers over the necklace I’ve had since I was fourteen. A special gift from my mom, originally given to her by her mother and was passed down from my great-grandmother, Ifunayla.
It’s beautiful, with an emerald crystal that glows softly in the light, pairing nicely with my black tourmaline necklace. It’s the only thing she kept from her old life in France.
According to my mom, the emerald crystal is supposed to attract my true love. Spoiler alert: it hasn’t worked. The black tourmaline is for protection. Given that I’m about to be alone in the woods, it better works overtime.
I take one last glance at Dad and the house before starting the car. His worried eyes follow me, making it even harder to leave.
My eyes catch the little Haitian flag that’s hanging around the rearview mirror. My grandmother on my dad's side gave it to me. I pull down the visor to check my face. My hair hasn't been deep conditioned in a while, and right now, my curls are looking crazy. But all I can see is her. The shape of my chin and the curve of my nose are undeniably hers.
Tears threaten to spill, but I blink them away, my vision blurring momentarily. My hands grip the steering wheel.
“You got this, Mia,” I tell myself before driving away.
I’m heading to a little town called Mountain Pearls in the middle of the Vermont forest, far from everything.
It’s perfect.
Despite growing up in New York City, nature has a way of calling my name. My mom and I used to take those annual girl trips to celebrate our birthdays. Mine is in June, and hers is in July. She would rent a cabin in the woods, and we would spend our time getting lost in books by the fire.
Those moments are pieces of my soul. It was our tradition.
But this time, I’m leaving alone, and she’s gone.
The tears I’ve been holding back finally escape, burning my eyes and making it hard to see. I blink rapidly, but they spill over, tracing hot, stinging paths down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand, sniffing softly. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I struggle to regain control.
Be a waterfall. I repeat those words to myself.
Maybe I should cancel everything. My grandmother on Mom’s side invited me to stay with her in Paris. I should go instead. My fingers flex and tighten around the steering wheel as another sob breaks through.
But Mom planned it before she died, and she already paid for everything. She wanted me to go.
This cabin is a place to mourn, heal, and figure out what I truly want. This is more than just an escape. I’m hoping the quietness will help me write again.
That was her last wish, to find my passion.
Growing up, writing was my passion. I wrote my first story when I was ten. It was about a magical waterfall. A secret place where I could read, and no one could find me.
My dream was to be a best-selling author like my mom. Then, I realized she was one of a kind, and I would never be as good as her.
As I drive, the city fades in the rearview mirror, replaced by the calm of the countryside. Fields of green stretch endlessly, deepening into dense forests. Occasionally, the trees open up to reveal fleeting views of distant mountains, their rugged outlines etching the horizon.
I pull down the window and inhale the fresh air. A mix of pine and a hint of moss, a wild perfume that calms my mind.
After three hours on the road, I’m ready for a break and pull into a small gas station. It’s an older place, standing off the main road, with a handful of pumps. The sign is fading, and the paint is peeling off.
On the right, I see a beige building that resembles a motel. It looks like something straight out of a thriller movie. My imagination runs wild: A young lady in her 20s traveling , stops in the middle of the night and checks into the motel to rest before she starts her journey again the next day. While she’s taking a shower, she has this feeling she’s not alone. Something or someone is watching her.
I laugh, shaking my head before getting out of the car and stretching my legs to ease off the cramps from the drive. The air smells of gasoline and distant rain. I head inside for a quick bathroom break, then grab some snacks and water on the way back.
At the counter, I pay for everything before stepping back outside. Lost in thought, I bump into someone entering the store, scattering my snacks on the ground.
“Oh, no.” I squat down to pick them up. He’s already there, helping, and our hands touch over a bag of chips. I look up and meet with a pair of beautiful eyes, the most unique shade of green that I have ever seen. The color of a forest after rain. And for a moment, I’m lost in them, unable to look away.
A hint of stubble softens his strong jawline. His tousled blonde hair gives him a carefree look. Tight, short, black sleeved shirt highlights his broad shoulders and well-defined biceps. “Thank you, and I’m sorry,” I blurt out. My voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched to my own ears.
Standing up, I’m acutely aware of how hard my heart is pounding in my chest. He’s staring at me, a small twitch at the corner of his eye, as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle laid out in the lines of my face. His brow furrows, the green of his eyes darkening with concentration.
I walk away, but his voice stops me. “You forgot your Snickers.” I turn around as he hands me my last snack bar. Our hands touch, creating that spark again. His green eyes pull me in, and I’m lost in their depth.
You’re staring.
“Thanks again.” I tuck my curls behind my ear, my throat dry, forcing me to swallow my spit. “I like sweet treats.” Oh God, why did I say that?
“I can be sweet.” A smirk playing on his lips.
Is he flirting with me?
“I like chocolate,” I say, laughing nervously while holding up the Snicker bar.
“What about white chocolate?”
It takes me a second to understand what he meant. My cheek heats up, and I’m pretty sure it can see the red spot on my face. “Um, depends on what kind.”
“I’m the only kind you’ll ever need,” he looks me up and down, not even bothering to ask for my name. I can see that’s not what he’s interested in.
The implication should bother me, usually, I hate when guys hit on me like that. But for some reason, I’m not, at least not when it’s coming from him.
Maybe it’s because there is something familiar about him, as if I’ve known him from somewhere. Which is weird, I’m certain I would remember someone like him. Those green eyes would be impossible to forget.
“Well, uh, thanks again.” I quickly turn and walk away, mentally kicking myself for being so awkward. His chuckles follow me, making my face burn hotter.
My hands shake as I hold the pump, my mind replaying the moment over and over. Sneaking a peek back at the gas station, he’s laughing, holding the door open for a woman walking inside, and she laughs back at him.
There’s an effortless charm about him that seems to draw people in, me included, apparently. We study each other again, freezing the world in a silent standoff. I look away first, cap the fuel tank, and slide inside my car, my heart still racing.
I glance in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see him, but it’s just the black jeep parked behind me. “Get a grip, Mia.” I sigh, then start my R&B playlist. The music eases the flutter in my chest as I shift into drive, merging back onto the road.