Chapter 28 Past
A few days had passed, and I was finally going to see Paul tonight.
He’d managed to sneak a phone call, just long enough to tell me he’d meet me after work and give me a ride home.
The relief that followed was immediate—like I’d been holding my breath for days without realizing it.
For the first time all summer, I was actually eager to get to work.
Though showing up eight hours early might’ve been pushing it.
Luckily, Molly and I had plans to lay out by the lake. Maybe that would help keep my mind occupied until then.
It was going to be a hot one.
The sun—though still climbing—felt like it was already sitting too high in the sky.
I could feel the heat pressing in through the windows before I’d even stepped out of bed.
Kicking off the blankets, I rolled out and started toward the stairs.
Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I stopped.
There, staring back at me, was a girl I knew—but who also felt completely unfamiliar.
sun kissed skin.
A messy knot of hair falling loose by her shoulders.
Wrinkled shirt from a night of tossing and turning.
But it was her face that gave me pause.
It had changed—somehow.
She’d seen things.
Felt things she didn’t know she was capable of feeling.
This summer had started with a wide-eyed girl chasing dreams under the Alabama sun.
But I don’t think it’ll end with her.
I think a new woman is getting ready to take her place.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something breaking downstairs.
Without thinking, I bolted from my room—bare feet barely touching the steps as I flew down.
I rounded the corner into the kitchen just in time to see my dad storm out the back door without saying a word.
Mom was crouched on the floor, her hands carefully gathering the scattered remains of her favorite fruit bowl.
Oranges and apples had rolled across the linoleum, weaving between jagged shards of blue and red ceramic.
I walked slowly toward her, but her voice—sharp and shaky—stopped me in my tracks.
“Stop—”
Her words were wrapped in sobs.
“I don’t want you to cut your feet.”
She paused, trying to sound more composed.
“I got this. It was just an accident.”
Her eyes finally met mine, and I saw it—that familiar haze already settling in.
It had been a few days since I’d seen this version of her. And never this early.
Something had happened.
Something had been said well before the fruit bowl met its shattered fate.
I ignored her warning and carefully stepped forward.
Kneeling beside her, I steadied her trembling hands.
Without a word, I took the larger shards of the bowl from her fingers and laid them gently on the floor where they belonged now—amongst the mess.
Then I slipped my hands under her arms and helped her to her feet.
She didn’t say anything.
She didn’t have to.
Her eyes told me everything.
She leaned into me, and we moved together—
a slow, silent dance through scattered fruit, a broken home, and the weight of things left unsaid.
I got her to the couch just as her body gave way—
surrendering to the one thing that numbed her,
the only escape from a world she no longer had the strength to face.
I could feel the sting of tears filling my eyes, but I brushed them away.
Upstairs, I slid on my Keds—they’d at least protect my feet from the glass,
though the deeper wounds, the ones you can’t see, had already left their mark.
I went back to the kitchen and grabbed a broom.
As I swept up the last few pieces of shattered glass, I couldn’t help but think—
the way I’m erasing every trace of what happened this morning,
those little yellow pills are doing the same for Mom’s memory right now — And in a strange, uncomfortable way…
that thought brought me relief.
After I gave the kitchen a once-over—hoping I’d managed to sweep up all the fragments—
I knew it was only a matter of time before the bottom of someone’s foot found a piece I missed.
Because it always happens that way.
And when it does, there’ll be a sharp, unpleasant reminder:
the things we try to forget always have a way of resurfacing.
The walk back up the stairs was slow and labored—
not because of the climb,
but because of the weight I was carrying in my chest.
…
The heat hit me harder than the fruit bowl crashing to the floor—but I greeted it like an old friend. I was just glad to be outside, far away from the lace-lined lies that held our house together.
I took my bike—probably not the best idea to get behind the wheel, given how shaken I still felt from this morning. At least, that was the excuse I told myself.
I pedaled fast—wanting to put as much distance as I could between me and everything I would eventually have to come back to.
I made it to Molly’s in record time—though I probably could’ve been there sooner, if I hadn’t slowed down when I passed Paul’s house.
In true Molly fashion—she was already waiting for me on the front steps.
Her red hair was a mass of curls now—
proof that her Aunt G had made full use of their time together.
“Big hair and even bigger personalities—that’s what keeps the men coming back for more,” Aunt G would say with a wink, giving her chest a quick lift for emphasis.
The curls suited Molly—as did most styles she sported.
She was wearing a new swimsuit—
a high-waisted green two-piece, covered in oversized yellow daisies.
Of course, she had the matching headband to go with it,
and those white flower-shaped sunglasses perched perfectly on her nose.
She was resting on her elbows—legs stretched out and her cherry-red lips stained from the popsicle she’d just finished—
the now-bare stick still resting between her teeth like a lazy afterthought.
The sound of gravel crunching beneath my wheels announced my arrival.
She sprang up, that wide, familiar smile replacing the popsicle stick—
which she casually flicked into the bed of purple and blue hydrangeas lining her front porch.
“Best fraannd!” she sang out in an exaggerated Southern drawl—
I swear it gets thicker with every trip to Tennessee.
Another charming side effect of Aunt G’s influence, no doubt.
I dropped my bike and met her with a big hug.
It felt like we hadn’t seen each other in weeks—but that wasn’t true.
If she wasn’t with Chad, she was either hanging around the creamery during my shifts—much to her cousin Taylor’s annoyance, since Molly loved sharing old family stories Taylor would rather forget—or she was at my house, feet kicked up like she lived there.
As we broke our embrace, I caught a glimpse of something just behind her eyes—
and it pulled my mind back, not to this morning with my mom,
but to the quiet moment I had with the old version of myself in the mirror.
She looked at me differently—like she saw it too.
Like she knew I wasn’t the same girl I once was.
Her thoughts were clearly not as heavy as mine,
because without missing a beat, she grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the house.
“Hurry up and get on your suit,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement.
“I want to show you something down by the lake.”
I loved her carefree spirit.
She had a way of smoothing out the rough parts of my life—
my own version of a yellow pill, helping me forget the bad without even trying.
Her mom had redecorated—again.
I guess that’s why Molly liked spending so much time at my house.
Things never changed there.
The furniture. The curtains.
Even the unspoken silence—
always drowned out by the kitchen radio humming in the background.
We made it to her room—
her mom must’ve been riding a wave of guilt,
because along with the new couches and lamps,
she’d also stocked Molly’s closet with a brand-new summer wardrobe.
Most of it was already sprawled across her bed in colorful chaos.
I picked out a fun white one-piece—
trimmed in bright red and covered in little cherries.
It wasn’t something the old Bri would’ve worn…
but it felt like it was made for the new Bri—Paul’s Bri.
I slipped it on and tucked my clothes into my bag, careful not to wrinkle my uniform.
I figured it was smarter to get ready at for work at Molly’s—she lived closer, and that way, I wouldn’t have to cut our lake day short.
She’d left me to get changed while she went downstairs to pack a small cooler.
I strolled into the kitchen, trying my best “Molly Stoll” pose.
She looked up, let out a low whistle, and howled like one of those construction guys we pass when we’re shopping in the city.
I rolled my eyes loud enough for the neighbors to hear,
the red in my cheeks now perfectly matching the cherries on my swimsuit.
“Oh, hush,” I muttered, swatting the air to chase away her catcalls and my own embarrassment.
Sure, I might’ve nailed the pose—
but I didn’t have the confidence to own it the way she did.
She let out a giggle as she collected everything and waved me towards the back door.
“Let’s go! I can hear the lake hollerin’ my name.”