Chapter 24 Past
I finally hung up the phone. My mind was still in a bit of a haze—the effects of being jolted awake creeping back in.
I gathered myself as I walked down the hall toward the kitchen.
Mom sat at the table, thumbing through an Avon catalog.
She wore a paisley top—different shades of purple forming the pattern.
Her shorts matched one of the purples perfectly.
Her hair was pulled up on top of her head, a sign that the heat from the sun already streaming through the windows had made itself known.
Seeing her there, all put together, sent a fresh wave of panic through me.
I glanced down to check what I was wearing—
Yesterday’s clothes?
That would be a hard one to explain.
The panic eased slightly when I realized I was wearing an oversized t-shirt that nearly brushed my knees.
A vague memory came back:
Sneaking in through the front door, tiptoeing up the stairs—
Holding my breath as my bedroom door squeaked closed behind me.
That pause—waiting to see if someone had heard, if anyone would come investigate.
I hadn’t even brushed my hair. If she looked too closely, I was sure she’d noticed something—his cologne, maybe still clinging to my skin. A softness in my face that wasn’t there before.
I remembered grabbing the first shirt I could find before pouring myself into bed.
The memory of Paul’s arms around me flickered, uninvited. I shoved it down, hoping the color in my cheeks wouldn’t give me away.
The smell of breakfast hadn’t quite faded, though any trace of it had already been cleared away.
My stomach—letting out an audible growl—gave me away and caught Mom’s attention.
She looked up from the lotions and oils, her eyes meeting mine.
“Good morning,” she said, then paused—
“Or should I say, afternoon?”
Trying to act casual, I made my way to the fridge—maybe to find something to cool my chapped lips, or maybe just the perfect excuse to break her gaze.
I glanced at the clock hanging above the kitchen doorway as I reached for the door.
In a somewhat playful—possibly a bit too sarcastic—tone, I replied, “It’s not quite noon yet, so technically;”
My voice trailed off when she shot me a look: one brow raised, a hint of a smile behind her eyes.
Feeling the sting of her look, I turned quickly back to my hunt for juice, doing my best not to let her see the truth my face might give away.
She cleared her throat managing to keep her tone even.
“You and Molly must’ve been up all night…”
She paused—just long enough to meet my eyes as I closed the door, juice in hand, maybe searching for signs of guilt.
Then she added, her tone changed just slightly to imply a question.
“Followed by a morning that came too soon?”
Her eyes dropped back to the magazine. She wet the tip of her finger to turn the page.
She didn’t wait for me to respond before speaking again.
“Want something to eat?”
If she knew the truth about where I really was last night, she didn’t let on.
The breath I’d been unconsciously holding released just a bit, my shoulders softening with it.
Trying to sound calm, I replied casually, “I think I’ll go to the diner, grab a burger or something.”
I should have left it at that.
But I couldn’t help myself—the guilt of lying to her was starting to creep in.
Doing all I could to conceal it, I added, “You’ve already cleaned up the kitchen—no need to dirty the dishes again.”
I could feel myself slipping. The more I talked, the less natural it sounded.
Mom clearly picked up on the change in my voice. Her recently diverted attention was now back on me.
“You okay?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice.
I hesitated, swallowing the truth that danced behind my lips.
“Yeah.”
I paused—thinking this might be my chance to tell her everything, to finally get it off my chest.
But instead, I went with the safe answer.
“Just tired, I guess.”
It wasn’t a lie.
And I followed it with something light, hoping to wash away her worry.
“Summer nights with my best friend—what can I say?”
Again, not a lie.
There was a slight pause as we both let out a throaty laugh.
Her once-worried eyes had softened, as if caught in her own memory.
“Been there, done that.”
She let out a soft chuckle.
“I think I’m still recovering from some of those long nights.”
Her cheeks flushed with the slightest hint of pink.
She shifted in her chair—her own teenage secrets, the ones she’d tucked away, clearly flooding back.
I could see she was now the one trying to hide her face.
She lifted the magazine from the table, pretending to study something on the page that suddenly needed closer inspection.
I left the room—
Even the pages of a popular catalog couldn’t contain the smile that still lingered on her lips.
As I made my way back to my room, a similar shade of pink brushed my own cheeks.
Thinking about Paul, and the words he’d whispered just hours earlier,
I couldn’t help but wonder if, like me,
my mom had once found a summer love that still held a quiet grip on her heart.