Page 59 of The Making of Mila and Blake
“Yes, Everett,” Mom hisses, tugging on Dad’s sleeve to pull him back. “Sheri doesn’t need you bulldozing over her love life. Play it cool!”
Dad points at Sheri, but his tone is playful as the firm line of his mouth transforms into a smirk. “Don’t think Dad wouldn’t have been out there interrogating this Wren guy. He’d want me to do the honors, I tell ya.”
My cheeks burn and I chuckle a bit as I think of Popeye grilling Blake on the porch, warning him not to break my heart. “Yup,” I say. “Popeye would definitelybe out there giving Wren an earful right now, Sheri.”
Dad grins and edges toward her. Sheri backs up against the counter, shaking her head, but it’s too late. Dad pounces, tussling her into his arms. Their laughter bounces around the kitchen as they scuffle toward the back door. Sheri tries shoving Dad off her, tries to squeeze out of his grasp, but eventually gives up.
“C’mon, little sis! Let’s go find Wren!” Dad teases, and he throws Mom and me a thumbs up. Sheri rolls her eyes, and the two of them rush outside and trek toward the construction site in search of Sheri’s new man.
I give my bulky boot a shake and cross to the refrigerator to grab the jug of iced tea. Mom remains at the table, her chin resting in her hand and her gaze lingering on the window above the sink, contently watching Dad on the horizon. Seeing him goofing around with Sheri is probably something she hasn’t seen in a long, long time. It’s only recently that he and Sheri have reconnected, and the loss of Popeye has only strengthened their bond.
“So. . . Is there anythingyouhave to confess?” I ask her. “Sheri is dating someone, I’m switching schools. Well, trying to. And Dad has changed his mind about getting tested.” I eye Mom suspiciously over my shoulder as I pour myself another glass. “The floor is open, Mom. It’s your turn.”
Mom laughs. She gets up and stands by my side, pressing her hands to the edge of the counter as the two of us observe from the window together. Sheri and Dad have disappeared inside the arena now.
“I miss him. Your dad,” Mom says. “I miss how we used to be, and I keep thinking. . .”
“That you’re making a mistake?”
Mom breaks focus from the window to look at me, furrowing her perfect brows. “Am I thattransparent to you?”
“The two of you haven’t stopped touching since you got here!”
She playfully pushes me away and changes the subject, distractedly tidying up the loose items on the counter. “You should start packing,” she says. “I’ll check out flights.”
My smile falters. Going home terrifies me, because if my pleas to Belmont are ignored, then I have no idea when I’ll be back in Tennessee. But I know I have to go home for now until I figure out whereI will start school next month. And going home means saying goodbye. To the ranch, to Sheri, to Savannah and Tori and their incessant bickering. Going home means saying goodbye to Blake, and we only just found our way back to each other.
25
Our luggage sits in a neat row outside on the porch. Packed, zipped and ready to be loaded into Dad’s rental car for the drive to the airport in approximately two hours. We are on the last flight out of Nashville tonight, and already the sun teeters on the edge of the horizon. From the moment I woke up this morning, the hours have flown by, and I am becoming increasingly aware that I am running out of time.
There has been an undercurrent of anxiety running through me all day and I have become restless, fidgety. I heave back upstairs in my clunky boot to check my bedroom one more time, but nothing is amiss. The sheets are stripped from the bed, the closet is empty, and the dresser is clear of my make-up and skincare products. I’ll be back soon, regardless of where I go to school, but going home always feels like such an upheaval.
I close the bedroom door, promise myself I won’t drag myself up here again, and humph back downstairs. Sheri darts through the front door with her appointment book in hand and her phone tucked precariously between her ear and shoulder. She nods quickly while scribbling with her pen, then ends the call and turns to me with an exhausted puff of air.
“I have such a backlog of lessons to catch up on, but it’ll be good for me to get back to work tomorrow,” she says, smoothing out the lines of stress around her eyes. She glances at the clock in the hall. “Have you started your goodbyes?”
I shake my head and say, “I don’t want to.” This is always the worst part, but this time even more so than usual. I can’t imagine waving goodbye to the Harding Estate without Popeye waving back from the porch.
“Savannah has been waiting all day for you to come outside,” Sheri says. She purses her lips sympathetically and touches my hair, adjusting the ends neatly over my shoulders. “And Tori arrived about twenty minutes ago. You can’t just leave them waiting out there while you sulk in here. Go. They’re hanging out at your oasis!”
I laugh. I totally forgot to dismantle my sunbathing spot, but who knows, maybe Savannah will use it as her new hangout during her breaks. I can’t leave her and Tori sitting out there any longer while I avoid the inevitable, so I pull myself together and head outside.
I hear their voices before I see them. Tori complaining about the bugs on the chairs; Savannah rambling over her.
“And here she is at last!” Tori says, leaping from her disintegrating chair. She motions for me to hurry. “C’mon, moon boot, get over here.”
I speed up, tracking my boot through the dry dirt until I collapse into my favorite lounger with the holes in the fabric. “Sorry, guys. I’ve been packing.”
“All day?” Savannah says cynically, and when I nod, she says, “Nope, I don’t believe you. You’ve been doing that thing you always do before you leave. Avoiding us as though that’ll change the fact that you’re going home.”
I draw my arms sheepishly around me as the pair of them stare me down, and then they break into beaming smiles and dive on top of me. We wrap ourselves into one huge hug and I’m smothered by the weight of them, Tori’s braids whipping me in the face and Savannah’s earrings scratching my cheek.
“Okay, okay!” I rasp, shoving them off. These bear hugs are our tradition and my heart beats with gratitude that I have two best friends who care about me so much, and I about them.
Savannah sinks into the chair next to me while Tori resorts to sitting cross-legged on the ground. The fact that she’d rather sit on the dirt says a lot about the state of the furniture I’ve cobbled together, but Tori is defiant like that.
“Have you said goodbye to Blake yet?” asks Savannah.
