Page 76 of The Love Bus

TOO MUCH

T he front door creaked as I stepped into the house I’d grown up in, where the air smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and my mom’s perfume.

It felt familiar, but also…like that familiarity was no longer within my reach. This was a place where I no longer fit. Not really home anymore.

And yet…

Mom was in the recliner, her cane leaning nearby.

"You're back," she said, setting aside her book. Her voice was casual, but I caught the quick once-over she gave me, like she was assessing my mood before saying anything else.

"I am."

Talk to her.

I crossed to the kitchen and grabbed her a glass of water, setting it on the table at her side. "Did you take your anti-inflammatory yet?"

She blinked. Did she expect me not to remember?

"Of course,” she said. “Now, how’d your meeting go?”

"Good. Better than good." I offered a smile, enough to reassure her, but not enough to invite questions. She didn’t need the legal breakdown right now.

And honestly, if I stalled any longer, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get this conversation out.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, took a steadying breath. "I talked to Ashley."

Mom didn’t look surprised. "She told you to talk to me?"

I nodded. "Says she’s tired of being our go-between."

A flicker of amusement passed between us, but neither of us smiled.

“So…” I began. Where to start… But then, without thinking, I said, “I hated that you didn’t cry at Gran’s funeral. Or Dad’s.”

She stared up at me, and her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“I know that’s unfair,” I continued, “but it messes with my head. I mean, I miss them so much. But you… You just carried on. Whenever I’ve cried—or been…too happy, or too angry—you’ve always acted like I’m too much. Like my emotions are a weakness or a burden.”

She looked away from me. "I wanted to be strong for you."

“Mom…” I needed honesty.

She was quiet for a second, then nodded slowly, the effort visible in the way her neck muscles tensed. “I never meant it to come across like that. You aren’t too much.”

Something in her eyes made her look a little lost, and already, a part of me that wanted to apologize for telling her this. But I squashed it. Instead, I just said, "You made it seem like I was.”

“You’re right. I’ve never been good at expressing things. Or allowing myself to…wallow. But Luna, I didn’t feel nothing . I miss my mom. Of course I do. And I miss your father dreadfully. But…this is just my way of surviving.”

I looked down at my hands. “I told myself you missed them, but…I never really saw it.” I thumbed at the fraying edge of one of the patches on my skirt. “Ashley says I shut you out. Do you think I might have learned that from you?”

“It’s a mother’s job to protect her children.”

“I know, but I’m not a child anymore.” I reached out and squeezed her hand, something that wasn’t really typical for us.

But it felt right in this moment. Needed.

“I just want…”

What did I want?

I knew we couldn’t change the past, but maybe we could change how we moved forward.

“I want you to be real with me. And I want you to let me be real with you. You keep things from me, like you’re afraid I can’t handle it. Like I’ll fall apart. Yes, I feel things. I show it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable. And…you don’t do that with Ashley.”

She shifted, then winced slightly. For a second, I thought maybe it was the conversation—until I noticed the way she pressed her hand to her hip.

Maybe it was both.

Either way, I never wanted to see her hurting. Not physically. Not emotionally.

I stood and plugged in the heating pad. When she leaned forward, I tucked it behind her back. She exhaled as the warmth kicked in, her shoulders easing just a bit.

“I’m sorry, Luna,” she said softly. “You girls have always been so different.”

“But different is good sometimes? Right?” I needed to know she was hearing me.

“It is.” She smiled faintly. “I know I haven’t always been fair to you.”

“No,” I agreed. “You haven’t.”

She stared out the window and then sighed.

“Gran was always better with you. No matter how hard I tried.” But then she shook her head.

“It’s not that you were too much—it’s that you weren’t afraid of anything.

And that scared me half to death. Always so impulsive, just like my mother.

And creative. And colorful. No wonder you got on so well. ”

She smiled faintly, but then it faded.

“When you left home at eighteen, I didn’t think you really understood how hard it could be.” Her gaze dropped for a moment. “Your dad—the eternal optimist—insisted you’d do just fine.” She gave a quiet breath of a laugh, small but fragile. “That left me to do the worrying.”

She swiped beneath one eye, steadying herself.

“That was always our tug-of-war. He kept me from drowning in fear. I kept him tethered to reality. Somehow, between the two of us, we stayed balanced.” She shook her head, as if still trying to puzzle it out.

“But then, we lost him, and…without him to balance me out… I just worry. I’ve been terrified you'd make mistakes you couldn’t undo.

Because I know what happens when mistakes pile up.

” She paused, glancing at me briefly before looking away again.

“My mom made mistakes. And I lived in that fallout.”

My chest tightened. “What mistakes did Gran make?”

She tensed, just a flicker in her shoulders, like part of her still wanted to protect me from it, even now.

“Trusting the man who fathered me, for one.” Her voice dropped, quieter, rougher.

I could count the number of times my mom had talked about her father on one hand. As far as we knew, he’d never been in the picture. Gran hadn’t talked about him either.

“I was seven when he left. There one day, gone the next. Left my mother with nothing.” She exhaled, her gaze drifting again, like she could still see it.

“The landlord evicted us a week later. I remember packing up my clothes, my toys, and asking Mom where we were moving. She smiled and said we were having an adventure. Camping.”

Her mouth curved briefly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“We were homeless, Luna, and my mom tried to make it sound like a vacation.”

Part of me could totally picture Gran spinning it like that. But hearing about it now, coming from my mom, showed me a glimpse I didn’t know existed.

“Mom’s old station wagon became home for the next year.

” Her voice thinned. “Seafoam green. The wood paneling peeling off like strips of old tape. God, those vinyl seats stuck to my legs in the summer, felt like ice in the winter.” She swallowed.

“Mom parked us behind grocery stores, side streets, and ran the engine when she could, But we’d still wake up with frost on the inside of the windows.

“When I met your dad”—she managed a wistful smile—“and finally had a shot at stability, I grabbed it with both hands. I was determined that my children would never know that kind of insecurity.”

There was emotion behind those words. Protection. Exhaustion. Love…

“And we didn’t,” I said quietly.

“Thank God.”

We both sat in the quiet, her lost in her memories, me trying to fit this version of my mother into the one I’d always known. I thought I’d understood that she and Gran had struggled, but I hadn’t. Not like this. Not even close.

“The worst part wasn’t being hungry or cold, it was pretending everything was fine.”

Pretending everything was fine.

I stared at her, and suddenly, so much about her clicked into place—how tightly she held things in, how hard she worked to control everything. She wasn’t just protecting me. She’d been protecting herself, too.

“You still do that,” I said softly.

She nodded, grimacing a little. “Old habits are hard to break.”

I sat with it for a moment, sifting through some of my memories, and then I frowned. “Gran told me a million stories.” About old boyfriends. Waitressing jobs she’d held. Even about my mom. But… “She never said anything about that.”

Mom just shrugged. “I’m sure that if she could have, she would’ve erased it completely.

Which was fine by me, honestly. You girls didn’t need to know.

” She shook her head, her expression softening.

“Those summers with you and Ashley—that was her do-over. But… I never stopped being… cautious. That kind of want stays with you, even when you’re not living in it anymore. ”

I understood it better now—the fear that shaped her. But if we were ever going to move forward, she’d have to loosen her grip. Allow me to make my own mistakes, and trust that I wouldn’t be defeated by them.

“I’m not Gran,” I said finally. “And I’m not you.”

She nodded. “No. You’re not. And I do know that.”

“I want security, too,” I admitted. “That’s probably why I stayed with Leo for so long.

He had that degree… When he pulled out an American Express card on our second date, I thought.

..wow. Maybe—” I hesitated, not quite ready to lay it all on her.

“Maybe part of me thought Leo was the key to having the life you wanted for me. The stability. The safety.”

I let out a breath. “And yeah, that all blew up. But...I was building something too. I still am.” I paused, gathering a little more courage. “I have a plan. I just need time to pull it together.”

I chose to believe there was more curiosity in her expression than caution.

“I still have my YouTube page,” I said carefully, watching her reaction. “And I’ve been outlining a cookbook.”

She blinked, then smiled, her voice warming. “You really do make those recipes look easy.” And then she laughed lightly. “When you’re not dumping them on people’s heads, that is.”

The tiniest laugh slipped out of me, too. It was a compliment. I will take this as a compliment.

“So,” I said, “from now on, I just need you to let me screw up sometimes. Without acting like the world’s going to fall apart if I do. Even if you don’t understand my choices. Just trust me. Support me. That’s all.”

She didn’t cry. Just blinked once, then looked toward the ceiling like she needed a second to collect herself.

“I can do that,” she whispered.

I leaned in and wrapped my arms around her carefully, mindful of her hip. Even though it was awkward.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice muffled. “About the thing with Babs. I shouldn’t have told her to lie to you.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

“She didn’t mean to hurt you. She’s a good soul, you know.”

I knew that. Because, of course, she was! “I’ll talk to her. I think I can forgive her.”

She exhaled.

“Oh, and everything’s been handled at the station,” I said, trying to lighten the mood with some good news.

“They’re actually killing the show, and there will be no more bad publicity.

” Not unless Leo wanted even more trouble.

But I’d tell her those details some other time.

“And once you’re feeling better, I’ll start looking for a new apartment.

” It wouldn’t be fair for me to leave everything to Ashley again.

But… “After that, I want to start fresh. I’m actually kind of excited about it. ”

This heart-to-heart was a really good beginning, but I couldn’t just live with my mom forever.

“Ah, I might be able to help with that.” She grabbed her cane, and with a groan, she pushed out of her chair and began hobbling toward the kitchen.

“You don’t need to?—”

“Grab my papers, will you?” She pointed to one of the cupboards, where I pulled down an old file box.

She thumbed through the files while I stood there, half curious, half skeptical. I mean, hadn’t we just agreed I was capable of handling my own problems?

“Maybe you don’t need to find an apartment.” She thumbed through the box while I just stood there, confused.

“What do you mean?”

But then she pulled out a folder, labeled Mantunuck , and my heart skipped a beat.

“I know this place means a lot to you,” she said, holding it out for me to take.

It was a deed.

To Gran’s house.

“We had it updated after Gran passed—before we put it for rent,” she said, “We’ve had tenants in and out until recently. But I know she’d have wanted you to have it. Your dad and I were just waiting for the right time.”

I stared down at it and just shook my head. It was too much.

“What about Ashley?”

“Ashley doesn’t mind. We actually talked about it while you were away.

She says that she and Beckett make more than enough for them, and they’re happy in the house they have now.

If it makes you feel better, though, I told her she can have this one after I go.

” She was watching me carefully, a little warily.

I’d usually resent being left out of such an important conversation, but I thought I could maybe let this one slide.

Still though.

“It’s too much.” Gran’s house was a beachfront property . And even though it had been built in the sixties, it was probably worth right around a million dollars in today’s market.

“We can make it official, of course. But you’ll have taxes and insurance to cover, which are about the same as you’d pay monthly for an apartment. Unless you really would prefer to find something else.”

I looked up at her. As if.

“Are you sure?”

She dipped her chin. “I think it meant more to you than it ever did to me. I don’t need the rent money. To me, it’s always felt like my father’s attempt to absolve the guilt he felt for leaving us. But you… Maybe you could make your fresh start there?”

And just like that, my heart felt too full.

Because I could see it.

A new cooking show.

Filmed in the bright kitchen where Gran and I used to cook. With sunlight slanting through the windows and the ocean sparkling in the background.

For a moment, I saw Noah there too. But I shut the door on that real fast.

Nope. Nuh-uh. Don’t ruin this feeling, Luna.

“Will you come visit?” I asked.

She laughed softly. “Probably more than you’ll want.”