5. Rory
Rory
Deep breath.
Another breath, and another, as I try to calm the tingling in my fingertips while I stare at my childhood home.
It’s not that I’m scared to see my parents, or nervous or anything like that. If anything, the sight of this house is comforting.
It’s more the finality of the situation, admitting things out loud.
If I tell them I’m here to stay with them, it makes this thing with Nate real.
If I move in here, I’m officially moved out of Nate’s house. We’re over.
I set my jaw along with my resolve. This is my only option.
Because yes, I’m officially moved out, even if I still have stuff to go pack up. Home is a state of mind, and Nate’s house is no longer home to me.
Spam lets out another whine, reminding me that he’s still sitting next to me.
I reach over and pat his head, trying my best to ignore the knot of that forms in my gut. He’s been my constant companion through everything over the last several months. I shouldn’t take this out on him.
“I’m sorry for ignoring you, Spam,” I say. “You’re the best. You know that, right?”
He tilts his head, ears perked up as though he’s listening.
“I just have a lot on my mind. Thanks for being there.” I smooth my palm over his head and down his back.
This time, when he climbs into my lap, I pull him close. “Love you, Spam. Even though you’re a little weirdo. Thanks for being there for me.”
He licks my face.
Spam isn’t a perfect dog, not by almost any measure.
But he loves me unconditionally and I love him, and that’s all that matters.
I take another breath and bury my face in his fur. “All right, Spam. Let’s go.”
I tuck him close to my chest, holding him with one arm as I push the car door open and climb out.
In the early evening twilight, the warm glow of the lights spills through the large living room window. Just the sight sets me a little more at ease, as the familiarity lightens the heavy pit in my stomach.
We approach the front door, where a WELCOME mat sits slightly askew, and I don’t even need to knock. The door opens with its telltale creak of the hinges. Dad’s been promising he’ll get around to oiling them soon for years, but in this moment, I love that he’s never fixed it.
It’s the sound of home.
“Rory?” Mom stands in the entryway as the door swings wide, a pinch between her brows, and something about her makes me do a double take.
It’s been two weeks since I’ve been to their house, I think. Maybe three?
Now that I’m living in the same town as them, it doesn’t seem as urgent to come over all the time. I can see them tomorrow, or the next day, and suddenly it’s been too long.
But usually a few weeks don’t change someone, and there’s something different about Mom. Her face is more drawn. She looks tired, the shadows below her eyes more pronounced than usual.
I open my mouth to ask if she’s okay, but before I can say anything, Spam hops out of my arms. He streaks into the house, nails skittering on the linoleum of the entryway.
Mom and I follow him with our eyes, and once he careens around the corner into the kitchen, she turns back to me.
“Is everything okay?”
I should be the one asking her that. I don’t know why, but there’s something. I just can’t put my finger on it.
“Rory?” she asks again.
Sighing, I let my shoulders droop and allow the focus to settle on me for a minute. “No. I broke up with Nate.”
Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she snaps back into mom mode, ready to fix whatever needs fixing.
She steps back, gesturing for me to enter. “Well, come on in. Do you have anything else? Need Dad to get something out of your car?”
I wonder if this is something you learn in parenting class, the way to change your personality on a hair trigger when your kids need you, even if they’re grown up and have been out of the house for ten years.
Mom has always had a knack for it, and I’ve seen some of my friends with kids pull the same thing. They can be sitting around, having a glass of wine, and then as soon as their kids need them, their entire focus shifts and they’re in Mom mode.
I smile, grateful that she’s welcoming me with open arms without asking questions. Probably something else they teach in parent classes. “I have a duffel bag of clothes. I’ll grab it.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be silly. Honey? Go get Rory’s bag from her car.”
She directs the order over her shoulder, toward wherever Dad must be inside the house, then looks back at me. “Come on in, Rory. Tell me what you need, Bumblebee.”
“So…that’s the end of it. I can’t be with him after that.” I shrug, wrapping up the story, and hug one of the couch pillows close to my chest like a shield.
One telling would be more than enough. Every time I repeat the story of Nate’s betrayal, the wound gets deeper, exposing the most vulnerable parts of me.
My parents exchange a look. Mom tilts her head, and Dad gives a short nod, like they somehow came to an agreement about something without even speaking.
“Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Dad says, turning from his silent conversation and back to me. “Are you going to keep working at the barn?”
It’s a fair question, I guess.
When I came up to my hometown of High Lonesome for our high school reunion, I never planned to stay. I was going to go back to Denver, figure out the next steps in my life.
When things fell into place with Nate, it seemed like it was meant to be. But now, I’m not so sure.
Like I said, though, I’m not running.
“I think so. For now, at least. I’ll see how it is to live in HiLo knowing I could run into Nate, but I might have to go back to Denver eventually. That’s where most of the jobs are, and…” I lift my shoulders in a show of uncertainty.
Spam nuzzles my leg, and I reach down to pet him, grateful for the distraction.
“Do you need anything for Spam?” Mom asks. She seems to be taking her cues from me. “Clearly he’s staying with us, right?”
She leans over and taps the ground until Spam scurries to her side.
I almost forgot how much Mom loves this little guy. It’s a small blessing. “He can stay in my room. I have some food for him in the car. Otherwise, he doesn’t need much.”
He may need a crate, come to think of it, since I didn’t bring his.
Despite my initial protests, Spam seems to have not only gotten used to sleeping in the crate, but now he goes in there voluntarily to nap.
I make a mental note to order him a new crate. A really nice one, too. For the time being, I’ll just set up a bed with some towels in my room so he’s comfortable.
“Just let us know.” Mom tilts her head, and her voice softens as she asks the question that cuts deep. “Have you talked to Nate, honey?”
I blatantly ignore it as I stand, the pillow I was clutching like a shield falling to the couch. “Do you mind if I use your washer? I didn’t have a chance to do laundry.”
My parents exchange another look.
“Of course,” Mom says.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I head for the stairs to grab the duffel bag full of dirty laundry from where Dad set it in my childhood bedroom.
“But maybe you should…” Mom starts.
I pause, my foot on the first stair. So close.
“Do you have dryer sheets I could use?” I don’t even look back, hoping she gets the hint that I really, really don’t want to talk to Nate. Or about him, for that matter.
Eventually, sure. But I need some time.
Dad mutters something indecipherable.
“I’m just–” More mumbling, this time from Mom.
“Maybe some of those beads that you toss in to make things smell good,” I say, a little too loudly.
“I don’t usually use them, but they seem like the kind of thing you might like, so I wondered if you had any.
Like, I think they come in a lot of different scents.
Lilac and other flowers and stuff. Lilac would smell good, probably. ”
The hushed conversation stops, so maybe my rambling got the message to them somehow. Or perhaps they just think I’m really into laundry. I could be. People develop new hobbies all the time. Maybe making sure my laundry is covered with artificial fragrance is my latest interest.
It wouldn’t be the worst assumption someone’s made about me, I suppose.
Anyway, I’m done talking about Nate for now. About what happened, what he did, what I said, whether I’ve talked to him any more. All of it. I’m done.
Because if there’s any more discussion of our relationship or of Nate in general, the wall is going to crumble. I’ll be a sobbing mess.
“Rory.”
I turn, forcing a smile onto my face. “Yeah?”
Mom stands from her chair, crosses the room, and sets her hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”
I bite my cheek, trying to hold my emotions in check. Moms can see through things. I should have expected it, but it still takes me off guard when she seems to look right through that wall I’ve built.
“I’m just…” I take a deep breath and then let it out, trying to find the words without dissolving in tears. “I don’t know, honestly. I wasn’t expecting this. It kind of threw me when I heard what he’d done…”
And when I thought more about what Yvonne said, what Nate must have done, the betrayal cut even deeper.
Another breath, another sigh.
I lean against the wall, needing something solid to hold me up. Mom rubs my back in slow circles, her hand warm and comforting, but not quite enough to take away the heartbreak.
For a few minutes, no one speaks until Spam breaks the silence, letting out a whine when he realizes that not only is no one petting him, but that no one has followed him into the kitchen to offer treats.
My vision is blurred with tears, but a giggle bubbles up as Dad sets his hands on his thighs and lifts himself out of his armchair, mumbling something about that darn dog and more work than a goddamn infant.
As Dad spoils Spam and Mom pulls me into a hug, I know I came to the right place.
Just like when I was a kid, Mom doesn’t let go of the hug until I do.
Once I drop my arms, she offers me a quick pat on the back. “Come on. Let’s do laundry.”
I was right about something.
Mom does have the scent beads, in both Lavender and something called Ocean Fresh, and as I bring my T-shirt to my nose and inhale deeply, I think there may be something to these scent beads after all.
I take another long sniff, then fold the fabric into a haphazard square before I tuck it into a drawer. Seriously, my clothes have never smelled this good.
I can’t believe I just assumed scent beads were some unnecessary laundry accessory. They’re everything.
They even seem to cover up the horse smell.
Not the sweet aroma of hay that I love, but the…
other things. Manure and dirt and the other, less glamorous smells that come from working at the barn.
Those seem to be getting harder and harder to get out the more time I spend at the barn, but the scent beads are doing a damn good job of covering it up.
My phone vibrates on the mattress next to the pile of unfolded laundry, the buzzing sound catching my attention.
I push aside some unmatched socks to see the screen, and my stomach drops.
It’s another text from Nate.