Page 54 of Till The Cows Come Home
“I’ll stay here,” my father cut in.
My mother nodded in agreement, whispering something into his ear before giving him a peck goodbye.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the night, unsure of the rightful recipient.
Miles. Baker Farm. The cows. They all deserved better.
“Sage,” Miles called, grabbing my forearm as I turned to walk away. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“I really wish it didn’t, Miles, but look around. We did this.”
“I blew them out,” his voice cracked, “I love this farm, I love?—”
“Don’t,” I begged, knowing the devastation waiting at the end of his unfinished sentence.
“I’d never be careless with either,” he mustered, even after realizing the reins I had confidently allowed him to hold were no longer in his hands.
“I can’t do this right now,” I sobbed, tears cascading down my cheeks.
This time I was thankful that my mother was there to guide me away. She ushered me into her car, saying nothing until we were both buckled, and with the key hovering outside the ignition, she turned to me.
“You sure?”
My lack of objection was all she needed, and withinmoments we were pulling out of the driveway. She began winding the roads, heading towards my apartment, and I began to panic at the thought of being alone.
“Can I go home with you?” I asked as we passed the road to her house.
My mother immediately pulled off to the side of the road, raising her hand to swipe away the tears I was no longer able to hold back.
“Of course you can,” she said. “You can always come home.”
I’d never lived in their current house, but somehow I knew exactly what she meant. Home wasn’t attached to a certain place, but a feeling, and my brain fogged with conflict as I tried to sort what that meant for me now.
“I’m going to shower.” I sighed, walking up the steps to my parents’ home and directly into the spare bathroom.
The door closed behind me and I felt the restraint finally slip as I allowed myself to fall apart. The tears fell so quickly and so fiercely that instead of single droplets, a steady stream poured down each cheek.
I twisted the faucet, adjusting the temperature of the water to as close to burning hot as I could withstand, before discarding my clothes onto the floor. Without leaving even a moment for my body to adjust to the heat, I stepped inside the scalding stream, desperate to feel anything that would distract me from the emotional warfare happening inside my head. My body slumped to the bottom of the tub, head settled between my knees, and as the water cascaded onto me, I let go. My shoulders heaved as I sobbed, carnal noises escaping that I didn’t bother to hold back. I cried and screamed and cursed everything I knew until the water ran cool, and even then I stayed, torturing myself with the discomfort.
“Honey?” my mom called out to me as she cracked the door open. “Are you okay?”
It may have been a subconscious cry for help or simply a lack of care, but I ignored her calls of concern. Moments later the shower curtain slid open an inch, my mother’s eyes peeking in, but my gaze stayed steady on the water circling the drain.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She sighed, cutting off the water.
I didn’t budge at first as she grasped under my arms, attempting to pull me up, but her grunts of exertion quickly knocked me from my dissociation.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, standing so my aging mother didn’t bear my entire weight.
“Shh,” she soothed, wrapping me in a warm towel. “I set some of your old clothes on the guest bed. I’ll be in with tea. Get dressed.”
Appreciating the direction, I wandered to a room I’d never utilized but always had access to. My parents made sure that their next home was a two-bedroom just in case I ever needed a place to stay, and I remember how excited my mother was when she decorated the extra space, attempting to encompass my style in order to entice my presence. I’d never spent the night here or showed up to their constant invites to Wednesday dinner, but she continued to extend the offer, dusting the loneliness from this room just in case I stopped by.
Her unrelenting hope, although commendable, was devastating. My intention was never to hurt my parents, but my anger was so loud that I hadn’t heard their pleas for forgiveness. I knew I was the reason they sold out, my prospective future ranking higher than their dreams, but I began to realize that maybe I’d held on to the hurt for too long.
Just as I’d settled into bed, tucked deep under the blankets, my mother emerged carrying two mugs of tea. Her eyes softened as she took in the sight of me curled up and red faced. Without hesitation, as if I hadn’t kept her at arm’s length for the last three years, she climbed into bed, pulling my headonto her lap, and as she raked her fingers through my hair, I looked up, staring at the only woman I knew had felt this loss before.
“How could this happen?” I sobbed.
