Page 1 of Homesick
CHAPTER 1
I can hear my mom quietly shuffling in what used to be my bedroom. I’m thankful for the few moments of silence before we spend the next two hours in a car together.
She’s the type of mom to drive into a city she hates to help me pack up what’s left of my former life. I think she’s visited me twice since I’ve lived here, but I can’t fault her for feeling out of place in this city. I’ve felt out of place here for a while, yet I chose to stay.
After a short and not-so-sweet meeting with some random HR employee, I was laid off and faced with the reality of the bleak job market. I tried for months to find the perfect rebound, but I guess this city finally realized how much I didn’t fit in here.
I snap out of my self-induced pity party and start double-checking the small space for any signs of life that may cost me the deposit I desperately need back.
After one dark night spent almost signing up for one of those sugar baby websites, I finally decided to throw in the towel and admit my defeat to my parents. They were excited when I told them how much of a failure I was. That meant that they got to have their little girl back.
The reality of the situation was I hated my job and being laid off was a blessing in disguise. I wasn’t passionate about marketing research, and it was merely a way to pay the bills. It was also a way to get away from my hometown. To put some distance between him and I.
As I internally pout to myself, I hear my mom enter the small living room/kitchen space I’m standing in. She softly walks over and leans against the counter.
“Your bedroom is all clear, Wren. Are you ready to get out of this hell hole?”
“Mom, the wound is still fresh. You can make jokes about how much the city sucks once I’m officially under your roof again.”
I make sure to throw her a sarcastic smile to assure her I’m only joking.
She chuckles to herself before clapping her hands together.
“Okay, great. Let’s get on the road then.”
I pick up the last box of my things from the floor and grab my key from my back pocket. I take a deep breath and gingerly place the piece of metal on the kitchen counter.
I turn to take one last look at the scenic brick wall my apartment looks out onto, and I sarcastically think to myself, damn, I’m going to miss that view.
Before I follow my mom out the door, I take in the empty room surrounding me and whisper a silent thank you. The one last piece keeping me from my past has finally fallen away and now it’s time to face the music.
* * *
The past two hours have been filled with throwback country music and my mom catching me up on everything that’s been happening in the town of Honey Grove. I always felt lucky to live in such a cute little town. However, those naïve thoughts faded with puberty after finding out the nearest mall was over an hour away.
Honey Grove is like any other small town in southwestern New York. Everyone knows everyone and you need to triple check your family lineage before accidentally dating a distant cousin. Just ask Bobby McDunne, who was supposed to be my date to winter formal in middle school.
Overall, my hometown was a great place to grow up and I have countless memories, both good and bad. The bad memories are the ones that have kept me away for the past six years. The only reason I had been home for longer than a day was for holidays and special occasions. Even then I’d avoid any place where there was even a faint possibility I’d run into him.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat when I hear a familiar tune start playing on the radio. I haven’t heard the song since sophomore homecoming when I’d finally admitted my feelings to one of my childhood best friends. It’s funny how so many great memories were ruined by a single bad one.
Thankfully, my mom pulls me out of my walk down memory lane before I completely spiral.
“I was asking around town to see if there were any job openings and it looks like they need a new waitress at the Rustic Inn.”
There’s no way I’m waitressing in my hometown. That sounds like one of the nine circles of hell from Dante’s Inferno.
“Thanks, Mom, but I think I can manage to find something on my own,” I politely answer. “I’m not completely ready to give up my job hunt yet. I might need to look somewhere other than Cleveland or maybe something remote.”
“You really want to move even further away from me,” she whines.
I love my mother, but sometimes I swear it’s like I’m an only child. My brother decided to stick around after high school so he could help my dad with the small farm my family owns. I thought that was basically my get-out-of-jail-free card for moving wherever I wanted to, but I was still constantly guilt tripped by the woman sitting next to me.
“I’m going to have to move somewhere near a city. I can’t get a job in marketing research out where we live.” I slump back in my seat and look wistfully out of the window to let her know I’m done with the conversation.
She doesn’t seem to get the hint because two seconds later she counters with, “well I think you should stick around for a bit. It’ll do you good to breath in fresh air for a while.”
I sigh and keep my comments to myself. If I’m going to live blissfully with my parents again, I need to learn how to hold my tongue.