Page 110 of Rewriting the Story

But, like everything else, it had changed. Kacey was elated to have me back. She was going to try and poach me anyway—at least, that’s what she told me. Apparently, the position I had at National Geographic in England is a direct mirror to the job I’m going to have starting Monday.

“I’m excited,” I tell my boyfriend. “I really feel like this is where I’m meant to be.”

“I’m glad,” he says as I hear him typing something. “You deserve this, Mills.”

“Thanks, Hen.” I smile as I get into my car. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I love you.”

He giggles a little. “I love you too.”

And as I hang up the phone, a stupid smile on my face, I take a deep breath before I start my car. My therapist told me to try and start taking in the big moments a few months ago, and instead of focusing on the future and the next thing, I’ve been trying to live in my emotions when they show up.

Part of me still feels like something is missing, though, and I know exactly what that is. That’s the good and bad part of being so self-aware. It’s good because at least I know what’s bugging me, but it’s bad because I’m not sure how to face the things that make me ache.

I turn my car on and drive, already knowing where I’m headed, the familiar streets of my hometown burned into my memories.

Looking back on when I would wander these streets searching for something I thought I would never find, I wish I could have coffee with my younger self. I’d tell her it’s all going to be relatively okay. I think she would ask about our travels, and I’d be able to show her photos of all the places we’ve gone on our own. She would ask me if we found people who could handle her sense of humor and odd personality, and I’dtell her we did, and even though we lost them for a little bit, we found our way back. She would ask if our brain ever started to make sense, and I’d tell her about our diagnosis and how grateful we are to finally understand.

I’d tell her we’re still scared of talking to our parents because we didn't follow the path they wanted for us, and she’ll hold my hand and tell me she understands.

As I park in the driveway of my childhood home, spotting the window I used to climb out of, I take a deep breath. I’ve changed throughout the years, but I’m still terrified to talk to my parents and finally have an open conversation—if they’ll even have one with me. I probably should have done this sooner, but I was too busy trying to get my life back on track. I was securing my future first before I tried to figure out my past. My new routine has been okay so far, and now that I officially have a job, it will be even better.

The last thing my mother said to me before I left for England was that I was destined to be alone, and I thought she was right. I’ve barely talked to my father in the last two years. I have no idea who they are. They feel more like strangers to me than my parents.

But my mother wasn't right, and I’m tired of running from the past and the people who created me. I want to think she didn't say that to be mean—maybe it was simply an observation—but she was right for a period of time. I was the loneliest I’ve ever been.

I get out of my car, trying to even out my breathing as I head for the door and knock. It takes a few seconds longer than I thought it would for them to answer the door, but as soon as my mother sees me, she wraps me in her arms.

“Amelia, it’s been too long since we’ve seen you,” she says into my hair, and I’m frozen, my arms glued to my sides as I take in her words.

The only other time my mom hugged me was…never. At least from what I remember growing up in this house.

“Uh, hi?” I say as she pulls back, her arms still on my shoulders as she takes a long look at me.

“George! Come here! It’s Amelia,” she smiles as she ushers me into the house, and I’m still confused at this reaction. My dad comes into the foyer then, and his eyes light up as he sees it’s actually me. His arms are around me too, and I’m practically robotic as I hug him back.

“Okay, this is not what I was expecting when I drove over here,” I say as I take my shoes off. “Did you guys get abducted by aliens or something? Blink twice if you need help.”

They just sit and stare at me, huge smiles on their faces. “Do you want some coffee? Or hot chocolate? Or water? Please, Amelia, let’s sit down and catch up.” My mother grabs my hand and leads me into the kitchen, the familiar environment making nostalgia float into me.

“Uh, coffee is fine,” I say as I shed my jacket. “I’ll be honest, I was expecting you guys to turn me away.”

“Why would we do that, honey?” my father asks as he sits next to me.

“Because of how I left,” I say as I grab my necklace. “And because we’re not a family who talks about feelings and stuff. At least when I was growing up, we weren't.”

“Amelia, getting emotions and feelings out of you as a kid was worse than pulling teeth,” my mother says as she pours me a coffee. “We didn't want to pry because you would only retreat further.”

“You always did like to sort through your feelings on your own, so we let you,” my father says as he sips his own coffee. “We’ve realized over the years that wasn't the best way to go about it, and we’re sorry if you ever felt like you couldn't come to us with what you were feeling, especially if you were struggling.”

This is the exact opposite of how I thought this conversation was going to go. If anything, this house feels warmer and more inviting than it did when I was a child. I thought the rose-colored glasses of childhood were supposed to go away as you got older, but that isn't the case here.

“Okay, pardon my confusion,” I say as I adjust how I’m sitting on the chair. “But when I changed my major in college, I was terrified to tell you guys about it because I wasn't following in Steven’s footsteps like you wanted me to. Every conversation I had with you back in college, all I could hear was disappointment in your voices.”

“Well, we were disappointed at first, but then we kept seeing pictures from your travels all over social media—”

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