Page 5 of Heavy

I bite my lip.That isn’t a no…

She digs into her purse and pulls out her wallet. “Six months, and then I’m telling him. Only use the card for the housing expenses.” She looks at me and nods as if reminding herself that I’m her daughter and that I’ve never misused our money before.

“He won’t care that I’m there.” When she presents me a black card, I snatch it. “I’m sure if we told him he’d be elated to know I’m cleaning up the place.”

Rolling her eyes playfully, she flashes me a big smile, one that I know is meant to warm my heart. “Insurance claims have been taking some time recently, and the upcoming election could cause delays with a lot of things. If you need anything, just let me know, Cal. Money, a girls night out. We never spend time together anymore.”

We never really did… not after losing Dad.

I don’t say that, even if I want so badly to. Instead, I produce a big grin. “Thank you.” I round the counter and swing my arms around her waist, knowing it’s all a part of the ruse.

“Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love ya, Mom.”

The drive takes just over an hour, and thankfully I only hit the tail end of traffic leaving Denver. Southwest of Highway 285 lies the small town of Maple Falls. The town itself is small but has a few bars I’m sure I’ll visit from time to time to drown out my problems, along with a Walmart and a handful of locally owned stores that line the main drag between stretches of highway. It’s eclectic, much like my cabin.

It's also home to a residential area called Sapphire Valley, which boasts a large lake owned by four families. I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting the other three, unsure why, it just hasn’t happened.

Our portion of the lake has been handed down from my great-grandfather on my dads side. The houses are spaced nearly a mile apart, if not more in some cases, connected by a single road. The cabin sits at the farthest western point, accessible only by a narrow road flanked by trees on either side. With no lights illuminating the path and the clock creeping toward six in the afternoon, the fading sun barely provides enough light to see the curve ahead.

The cabin is called Sanderson Pine, named after my father, James Sanderson. I’m happy I was old enough to have a say in keeping my dad’s last name, whereas my mother changed hers to Byrne when she remarried. I’m my father’s daughter, and though I plan to marry one day, I hope whoever it is won’t mind taking my name instead.

As I come up on the rustic A-frame style wooden exterior that blends nicely into the nature surrounding it, I breathe a sigh of relief. No cars and no lights on: absolute silence. It’s secluded enough that I can scream through an orgasm and the neighbors would be none the wiser.

It’s situated right at the edge of the lake, and under the faintly orange sky, I can see the dock where a pontoon boat used to bounce against it. I think one of the neighbors has it now, from a comment Eamon once made, and I may try to get it back.

I come to a stop and grab my backpack, which holds a set of clothes for the night. I’ll get my suitcases and the few boxes I have later; most of it is left over from my parents’ place since I lost nearly everything in the fire.

As I quietly shut the door to my Mustang, I make my way up the gravel pathway. The large wooden oak door of the A-frame cabin looks untouched, but I know I’ll have to do a thorough cleaning of both the exterior and interior. It’s beautiful, and I wish I didn’t have to taint it with my disease.

Sliding the key in, I stay quiet as I slip in and shut the door behind me. I pop on the light and the open concept living room expands in front of me. White sheets are draped over the elongated L-shaped sofa and what I think is a rocking chair. A floor to ceiling fireplace faces me at the furthest wall, and around are other fitting decorations, from a grandfather clock to a coffee table.

This single-story cabin took ‘being together’ seriously. There are only two rooms, one of which is the master with a remodeled bathroom; it’s the only space my motherhadto have redone.

The kitchen I’m walking toward is on the other side of a wall-to-wall window that opens onto a patio looking out at the forest. I always thought it was strange that there isn’t a patio on the lake side, but if I remember correctly, it was due to the garage’s design. I might consider shifting the layout, depending on how much effort I’m willing to invest.

The worst part of this kitchen is the god-awful design. Brown cabinets sit atop brown and tan tiles, paired with an equally unattractive backsplash. To top it off, the white appliances are outdated, and the sink is chipping. This place definitely needs a lot of work.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I quickly pull it out. I’m automatically connected to the Wi-Fi, though I don’t question how it’s on. It seems like whenever my mom or stepdad request something, it gets done in no time. Why would asking for their services to be reactivated be any different?

Gene-Vee lights up my phone, and I answer it.

“Hey, sweet cheeks.”

“Hey, babe. What’s cookin’?” she says with a soft laugh.

“Not our townhouse that’s for—”

“Oh my god, Cal!”

I press my lips together, holding back a snort, and lean onto the counter while setting my backpack down as I tap my foot. “Who am I to not make a joke about our misfortune?”

A groan rolls straight through the speaker. “I wish you wouldn’t. I think about it, and I wasn’t even there.” Even though Gene was never actually in danger, I’m grateful she wasn’t home for some unexpected reason.

“My bad.” I say the words, though the apology behind them isn’t genuine. “So, what’s up? How’s the boytoy?”

“Travis is great, not a boytoy. Though, I will be moving back in with you. This is too soon for us.”

---