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At times I crave the easy-going conversations my siblings are able to have with them.

Every once in a while we have conversations where I feel like that little girl they supported no matter what.

That is until they find a reason to remind me of all the ways that I don’t fit into the perfect suburban family mold.

My childhood wasn’t all passive-aggressive comments and disappointed glares.

My parents sparked my love for travel at a young age.

We took weekend trips to New York or the beach.

I’ve spent a month exploring Australia. That’s actually the trip that inspired my first tattoo.

They’ve become my own personal passport stamps.

A reminder of all the places I’ve seen. The recipes I’ve learned.

I believe no matter the language spoken, we can all understand the love that goes into a good meal.

“I can’t believe my last baby is going to college. I’ll be coming up a lot more to visit now to watch your brother’s games. Maybe we can try and spend some time together, just the two of us.”

Just an Italian mother gushing over her only son, nothing new to see here.

“I’d like that, Mom.”

This version of Sandra Adams shows up every once in a while. It’s what keeps my hope going that we can stitch our relationship back together.

“Is Oliver up? We have to get to the barn to get Cookie so we don’t miss his move-in window.”

“He went upstairs to get the last of his things a few minutes ago. He should be back down any second.”

She says nothing else, pouring herself a cup of coffee and going on with her morning routine.

Something I respect about my mom is that she always tries to send me off on a positive note, making me feel like we have made progress in our relationship. It always gives me hope that this time the cease-fire will last.

My equilibrium is thrown off when I pick up the tote bag I got during our family trip to Spain this summer. Gathering myself I throw it over my shoulder before turning toward the door that leads to the garage.

“Will you tell Oliver I’ll be in the car and that I have his coffee ready for him?”

Nodding, she wipes away a few free-flowing tears. She and my dad are officially empty nesters.

First thing on the back-to-school to-do list, is to stop at Blissful Stables and get Cookie all settled into her temporary home. The deep red brick stable matches the buildings that line Main Street. An instant sense of calm washes over me. I’m back where I belong.

Cookie must be happy to be back too. She prances down the trailer’s ramp with a pep in her step making it easy to guide her to her stall. It’s not long before a familiar laugh bounces off the wooden stalls causing my heart to fill a little more.

I nearly tackle my beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed friend the moment she is within reach.

Charlotte and I met four years ago when my parents and I were looking for a stable to house Cookie.

Blissful Stables’ sprawling green pastures and timeless brick buildings had top-tier facilities that much was clear from their brochures.

The other local stables we visited after my freshman orientation felt wrong once I met Charlotte.

Her mom is the third generation to own and run the stable.

Charlotte helps her mom by teaching some of the beginner’s lessons when she isn’t glued to my hip or taking classes at Hamilton University.

The school’s campus is only a couple towns over from Westvale and thanks to all my athlete friends I know they are our number one rival.

“Lola! You’re finally back!” She wraps me in a hug so tight it takes my breath away. Digging in the pocket of her leggings she pulls out an unwrapped mint for Cookie.

“I’m so happy to be back,” there’s a notable ease to this conversation that just wasn’t there when I talked to my mom this morning.

Settling into the couch in the employee lounge with my second cup of coffee for the day, we exchange stories about our summer vacations like we didn’t text or call each other anytime we experienced the smallest inconvenience.

“How were things with your parents this summer?”

“They were good,” I tell her, playing with the hem of my black t-shirt, “Only a couple of fights about my major change. They threatened to bring Cookie home if I didn’t change my major back.”

My chest tightens at the thought that calling my parents’ bluff could lead to me losing this place.

“I did cook dinner for them a bunch of times while I was home, and I think that it reminded them that I know what I am doing with my life.”

Before I have to leave for Oliver’s sign-in time, Charlotte gives me a quick rundown of the three guys she is currently dating.

One she describes as a “mom-approved” finance major that goes to Hamilton.

I know their story already. They lived on the same floor freshman year and hook up whenever they are both single.

He has that frat-bro mentality, but luckily I don’t think there are any real feelings going on.

Then there is the thirty-eight-year-old single father she met at the gym this summer.

He is definitely not Mom-approved. But apparently one night in bed with him and your sex-life will be changed forever.

Seems a little dramatic to me but she swears it’s true.

She also has no intention to meet his kid.

The last guy is the one that I hope she settles down with if she ever decides to get serious with someone.

He’s a junior on the baseball team at Westvale.

He stayed in town to intern in the athletic department this summer.

His spirit animal has to be a golden retriever.

The kind of guy you hope your friend falls in love with.

Unfortunately, she is living her best single life and refuses to tie herself to anyone that will keep her in Western New York after she graduates.

I can’t blame her for that; plus, if I have learned anything from last year, it is that boys just make everything more complicated. And who has time for that?

“I’m so jealous that you’re starting your freshman year. I’d give anything to be a freshman again.”

“I don’t think you are; we had to spend the past three years listening to you complain about how unfair the drinking age is,” Oliver reminds me of those awful years between going away to school and genuinely gaining independence.

The unwarranted sass and side-eye is not appreciated, so I give him a little reminder of the power I hold over him.

“You will have the same problem, so if I were you, I’d have little respect for a certain older sister who can make liquor store deliveries.”

Laughter sputters out of us. I’m filled with this immense sense of pride knowing how hard my brother worked to land a scholarship at one of the country’s top hockey programs. Having this year at Westvale together means so much to me.

Orange traffic cones line a trail through the freshman dorms’ parking lot.

I follow the car ahead of me, bopping my head along to the radio.

I peel out of line when we get in front of Hickey Hall–yes, that is the last name of a man who donated a lot of money to get his name on the side of a building.

Yes, it is an unfortunate name for a freshman dormitory– and wait for Oliver to come back with his key and room number.

“Hey, Lo, they said if we just get the stuff out of the car, my teammates will help, they are sending them over now.”

Suddenly the water I’m drinking goes down hard.

I slip on my sunglasses using them to shield my brother from the fear in my eyes.

Thanks to a lost phone, my brother knows about my brief relationship–really more of a situationship with Byron Andrews.

If you’re wondering who the fuck is Byron Andrews, he’s just my best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend. And now my little brother’s teammate.

We were more serious than I like to let on.

He became my best friend, a safe place to divulge my secrets without fear of judgment.

That all went up in flames at Jalen’s draft night party in New York City this summer.

Ivy had accidentally picked up Byron’s phone from the dinner table thinking it was hers.

It wasn’t until she handed her phone to the VIP hostess at the club to take a group photo that she saw a text that I had sent to Byron telling him I think we should tell everyone about us.

Everyone freaked out. It was like our friend didn’t just get drafted to play for his hometown team. All eyes were on Byron and me.

The moment was taken away from us. We weren’t ready to tell our friends and their reactions were everything we could have hoped for when we finally did tell them. I’m not sure if that’s why from that night on I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that this is all going to blow up in my face.

I wasn’t lucky enough to have the buffer of going back to my apartment in Westvale to settle my heightened emotions before heading back to Philadelphia for what I knew was going to be a hostile summer with my parents.

I needed Byron this summer and he knew I needed him, yet, he wasn’t there for me.

Sure there were calls and texts, for a little while. I convinced myself that he was busy. The guy is a human magnet. Everyone is drawn to his outgoing personality and goofy smile.

It was what drew me in and became the foundation to a relationship that I foolishly began to rely on.

Trust doesn’t come naturally to me. I was devastated when I realized that our relationship didn’t mean as much to him as he told me it did.

I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt to lose someone that I had learned to trust.

My black hair and dark clothes probably make me look like a perpetual pessimist, but I really am a glass-half-full kind of girl. So I’m happy he showed me who he truly was before I got so deep I couldn’t dig myself out.