Page 11 of Broken Pieces

Chapter Six

Raelynn

Harper is on the phone with Ivy when I walk in the door letting her know I came right home. I meander around my mom’s old bookshelves waiting for Harper to be distracted and grab a bottle of wine and dash out to the treehouse to hide it in the hidey-hole I made back when I was in middle school. It used to be where I kept my diary but now I use it to hide much more important things, like wine. I’m happy Easton never fixed the loose board.

Dinner is a bore as Easton and Harper ask me a million questions about my first day baking. I give them short answers because I don’t really feel like talking about it. I would rather just get drunk right now than share my feelings. I manage to feed most of my dinner to Harper’s dog, Poe, who is sitting under the table at my feet.

Eventually they realize I am not in the mood for talking and leave me alone. As per usual, they make me do the dishes and clean up the kitchen. I don’t understand why they think it’s necessary I do all of this shit. They say it brings discipline into my life. They don’t understand that I learned discipline from black eyes and broken ribs.

I lay on my back in the treehouse, staring up at the stars in the endless sky, sipping on the bottle of Chardonnay I snuck out of the house, turning on the soothing sound of Florence and the Machine. I needed this escape after that dumb boy ruined my day. That dumb boy with eyes the color of whiskey, short cropped brown hair sticking out from under his hat, and that gorgeously tanned body with enough abs I could use them as a washboard in a bluegrass band.

What is wrong with me?

I should not be thinking about him like that. He was a pig. I didn’t miss the way he stared at me in the diner or the way his eyes lingered on me in his truck or that subtle adjustment he made to his pants when I got in the truck. But Ivy warned me not to talk to him or he would try to undress me. I questioned why she even let me get in the car with him, but when she told me I would have to wait a few more hours to go home with her or sit at Easton’s shop and wait for him, I decided riding with washboard was my best option.

Where did he even get the audacity to tell me I was on house arrest? Stupid cocky asshole. I mean he is right, but it’s not like I want people to know that. And why did he find it okay to ride around without a shirt on? Does he think if he just talks to a girl showing off those abs they will immediately take their pants off and declare their love? I sure hope I never see him again.

I roll on to my stomach and stare into the house. I can see the silhouettes of Easton and Harper through their bedroom window. He has his arms wrapped around her from behind holding her stomach. Ugh, stupid fairytale romance. Looking at them makes it hard to be here. It reminds me too much of my past. Before Logan. Before Tyler died. When I was happy. Before everything came crashing down because of one naïve mistake I made.

Maybe if I try to find what made me happy, then I can find happiness now. I lied to Easton earlier when I told him it was only okay when I was baking today.

I loved it.

Every single second of it.

It doesn’t matter that my cheesecake tarts cracked, or I used too much sugar and not enough flour in the cookies. I never felt more relaxed than I did those six hours I spent baking. I almost felt the presence of my mom around me.

She taught me how to bake after she let me help her make chocolate chip cookies when I was four. It was my favorite thing to do with her. I loved it because it was just us. Easton was off playing sports and my older sister, Tacoma, was into dance. So I got to spend almost every afternoon after school baking with my mom.

Once I turned eight, she trusted my expertise with knives and ovens and allowed me to do whatever I wanted. I remember she bought me a French Patisserie book and told me to learn something so I could teach her. We had so many pastries, croissants, and tortes in the house we could have had our own bake sale.

A tear falls onto my hand. I didn’t realize I had been crying. I miss my parents. It’s been almost ten years since they died. I’m only twenty years old and yet I haven’t had a mother for ten years. The thought hits me so hard I break down. Everything that has happened over the last ten years hits me and I wonder what my mother would have thought of it all.

Would she have been there to comfort me when Tyler died?

Would I not have been so broken over his death?

Would I have had more respect for myself and my body if she was there to hold me?

The more I think about it all, the more it hurts. The insides of my body crumble into a million broken pieces and I wish I had someone to hold them together. To try and put back all the broken that is inside of me.

But there is no one there. No one to tell me it will be okay. And I know it won’t be long until I am just scattered ashes on the wind.