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Chapter Four

Edward

After many, many hours of driving, I’m finally approaching the house I’d left behind almost two years ago. My heartbeat stutters in my chest as I pull up on the driveway and let the engine sputter to a stop before I turn it off. The music vanishes, along with the hum of the car engine, replacing all sound with utter silence.

My heart is thumping, and my mind is pounding as I mentally prepare myself to get out of the car. I’m not given long to gather my thoughts when I see the front door open, and my mom walks out. The smile lighting up her face at the sight of me fills me with warmth. I’ve missed her so much. My dad follows after her, also smiling, but it doesn’t have the same effect on me that Mom’s did. I was never as close to him as I was with my mom.

“Edward!” she calls out, hurrying over to the car.

I take a deep breath and get out, opening my arms to hug her when she gets within reach. Picking her up, I squeeze her tightly to my chest.

She laughs and smacks me lightly on the back. “Put me down! ”

With a chuckle, I do as she asks, and when my dad gets close enough, I give him a one-armed hug.

“Hi, Son. Welcome home,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Hi, Dad,” I respond, smiling at both of them.

He walks around my car and pops the trunk. Grabbing some of my bags from inside, he makes his way into the house. I follow suit, slinging my backpack over one shoulder and picking up another two bags. Mom lifts the last one out of the trunk and shuts it. I lock the car and we all venture into the house.

We head deeper inside, and my dad has already set my bags down in my room and left by time I get there with my mom.

“How was your journey?” she asks, following closely behind me.

“It was pretty uneventful, traffic was fine, and I think I made it home in pretty good time,” I tell her as we walk through the door.

My room is pretty much the same as when I left it—a few band posters still on the walls, my old laptop sitting on my desk. It doesn’t smell stale, instead it has a hint of freshness and laundry detergent. Mom must have changed the sheets just before I got here.

“You’ve grown,” she observes, peering up at me with a smile. “But you’ve lost weight,” she adds with a slight frown.

I shrug. “I’m fine. I’ve just been staying busy, I guess.”

“Hmm,” she huffs slightly, opening my bag and starting to unpack for me.

“I can do that,” I tell her, taking the shirt from her hands.

She taps the back of my hand and takes it back. “Uh-uh. I’ve not seen you in six months, and now you’re home I can take care of you.”

“Mom, I can put my own things away,” I insist.

“Ah!” she snaps, shaking her head.

Having her in my space and being so close to her after such a long time away makes my head spin. All of the thoughts and feelings I’ve been failing to squash and eradicate come flooding back as her floral perfume fills my nose. I inhale deeply and lift my hands in surrender. Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, I watch her bustle around my room, humming quietly to herself as she busies herself unpacking and putting away all of my clothes.

A small thud echoes around the room like a gunshot when my box of condoms falls out of my bag and onto the floor. I feel my cheeks heat slightly when she picks them up and looks at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Mom—” I begin, but she holds up a hand to shush me.

“I’m glad you’re being safe,” she says with a knowing smile, holding out the box to me, and laughing. “I’m not old enough to be a grandmother just yet!”

Electricity sparks through my fingertips when they brush as I take the box from her. I drop it into the nightstand drawer, trying to ignore the flood of warmth that spreads through my body as I look at her through the corner of my eye.

She’s right. Mom was young when her and Dad adopted me when I was two—only twenty—so she doesn’t look old enough to have a twenty-one year old son. Her dark hair that is as dark as mine only hints at her age, only a faint scattering of silver hairs that glimmer when the light catches them just right. Her skin is still smooth, barely showing her age with the tiny creases by her eyes and mouth that are visible when she smiles.

My mom is beautiful, and she’s mine.