Page 1 of Boots & Scars

1

Everly

Sunday afternoons were predictable. The old grandfather clock in the corner ticked steadily, its hands edging closer to one o’clock. I sat at the dining table, a white cloth draped over it, pristine and unblemished. The aroma of roast chicken and vegetables filled the air, a comforting reminder of home.

“Everly, are you sure you don’t want to come home for spring break?” My mother’s voice broke the silence, carrying a hint of concern as she set a plate in front of me.

I took a bite of chicken, savoring the flavor. “I’m staying on campus, Mom. I told you that.”

She sat down across from me, her brow furrowing slightly. “But it’s been so long since we had a proper family break together. You always used to love our spring trips.”

I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady. “I have some projects to work on. It’s easier if I stay.”

Her eyes searched my face for any sign of hesitation. “Projects can wait, sweetheart. You need a break too.”

“I know, Mom,” I replied, setting my fork down for emphasis. “But it’s really important to me to get this done.”

She sighed softly, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “Well, you know you’re always welcome here.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, forcing a small smile.

Her gaze softened as she reached out to pat my hand gently. “You’ve grown up so much.”

I looked around the room, the familiar sight of framed family photos lining the walls catching my eye. It was comforting and stifling all at once.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be here,” I explained carefully, picking up my fork again. “It’s just...” I let my voice trail off. How did I explain to her it was important for me to start figuring things out on my own?

Mom nodded slowly, her eyes moistening but never breaking their hold on mine. She understood more than she let on.

“Well,” she said after a moment of silence, her voice brighter but still tinged with sadness, “at least promise you’ll call more often?”

“I promise.” I smiled genuinely this time.

The conversation lulled as we continued our meal in quiet companionship. The clock ticked away the seconds, each one marking another moment between us—a blend of past and present hanging in the air like the scent of home-cooked meals.

Mom set her fork down and leaned back in her chair, a contemplative look on her face. “I’m glad the old dean left Crestwood. I’m hoping he gets some help for his vices, but he shouldn’t be around children.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Mom, Crestwood is a college. There aren’t any children attending. We’re all adults.”

“That doesn’t mean he should be around you,” she countered, her voice firm. “I’m glad John stepped in to fulfill that role. You know, he worked with your father? He was theassistant coach to the Chicago Honeybears when your father was the trainer. He’s a good man.”

“I know he’s the only reason you even let me apply to Crestwood,” I said, frustration creeping into my voice. “I missed an entire quarter, Mom.”

“You did community college classes online,” she said dismissively, waving her hand as if that made it all better.

“That isn’t the point.” I pressed my lips together, feeling my temper flare up. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down before continuing.

The tension hung between us like a thick fog, neither of us willing to break it first. Mom looked at me with that familiar concern that had been there my whole life, like I needed help with everything. She meant well, but it felt like she couldn’t see how much I needed space.

“John’s looking out for you,” she said softly after a moment.

“I know,” I replied quietly. “But I need to do things on my own too. Iwantto do things on my own. Like Holly."

“Holly is… different,” Mom said, her tone cautious. “She’s a smart girl, but she was raised in the public school system.”

“Mom, there’s nothing wrong with the public school system,” I countered, my voice firmer than I intended. “In fact, it’s a good indicator of socialization, developing relationships, and being exposed to different cultures and classes. Unlike homeschooling—” I stopped myself, clenching my teeth together. The last thing I wanted was to start another argument about my upbringing.

I sighed and looked down at my hands. “I appreciate that you were able to stay home and teach me. I know how lucky I am. Truly, I do. But me going to college isn’t a bad thing, Mom. It’s not like I can stay home forever.”

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