Page 73 of Next in Line
My mother said I was melodramatic because I hated change. She told me one time when I cut my Barbie’s hair that I immediately started sobbing and begging her to glue it back on even though I was the one who cut it. And apparently, that lovely part of my personality never went away because I still recall bawling on my brother’s shoulder when he told me he was moving eight hours away with his girlfriend to Boulder, Colorado. Granted, part of that was because I loathed his girlfriend at the time, but the majority of it was because I hated change.
I still hate change.
Case in point, Sterling dumps me, and I go on a crazy road trip of self-discovery. I guess some things never change.
It’s almost dark outside before I pull myself out of my bedroom for the first time in twenty-four hours. I’ve been hiding in my room like a hermit, terrified Miles is going to come storming in at any minute and disown me for lying to him and screwing around with his best friend. But so far, all is quiet in Boulder. Like the calm before the storm.
I shuffle into the bathroom for a shower that I’m hoping will clear my head, but I know it won’t. Right now, I feel like I keep getting hit by one bus, only to get hit by another bus. First with Sterling, then Kate, and now Sam. For a girl who doesn’t handle change well, a lot of crap is coming at me way too fast.
The house is quiet when I step out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me. Miles and Kate will be home soon after another romantic day together at Tire Depot. Maybe I should throw something together for dinner. It could very well be my last supper with them.
My cell phone rings, and my mom’s face illuminates the screen. I swipe to answer it, feeling a homesick knot form in my throat just at the idea of hearing her voice again. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi Maggie, how are you?” she asks, her voice soothing like always.
“I’m good,” I lie through my teeth. “How are you?”
“I’m great. I miss you, though. When do you think you’re coming back from Boulder? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
I sigh heavily. “I’ll probably be coming home soon.”
“Good. Your father and I aren’t ready to be official empty nesters yet.”
“How is Dad?” I ask, biting my lip and trying to stop the tears from welling in my eyes.
“He’s good. He has that ridiculous flag football league practice tonight. I still can’t believe he joined a senior football program. It seems like an oxymoron to me.”
I laugh at that. Dad always has loved football. “Mom, tell me how you and Dad met again.”
“What?” she asks curiously.
“Tell me the story again.”
Laughing softly into the phone, she says, “Well, I was at my first college party with my girlfriends, and this boy kept trying to get me to dance with him all night. I was not interested. He rolled his cigarettes up in his sleeve, and I always thought that was so tacky. But the boy wasn’t giving up, and just when I thought I was going to have to leave the party to get away from him, your father stepped right between us, stared that guy in the face, and said, ‘Move along, or your next dance will be with my fist.’”
My face spreads into a wide, happy smile. “And then he turned around…”
“Then he turned around, smiled at me, and somehow I knew that I was looking at the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.”
“And Daddy felt the same.”
“Your father later told me that when he saw me across the room rejecting that other guy, he knew it was because I hadn’t looked his way yet.”
“Gosh, this story is the best.”
“It really is.” My mom laughs. “I never get sick of telling it.”
I sniff once into the phone, and croak out, “Do you think that’s what Sterling and I have?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think we could be just like you and Dad?”
“Honey, I don’t know why that would matter. If I’ve learned anything through my Dirty Birdy’s Book Blog, it’s that all stories are unique. Beginning to end. Fiction and nonfiction.”
“But you and Dad are so happy. Your story makes me believe that what we read in the romance novels can be real life. I would do anything for that kind of book-worthy happiness.”
“Happiness shouldn’t be forced, dear. It should come naturally. Do you feel happy with Sterling?”
