5. Cleo
5
CLEO
The sizzling vegetables in the skillet felt like a lullaby; the soundtrack of my mom's house. My eyelids drooped as I watched her jump from the stove to the cutting board on the small peninsula where I sat.
"Thanks for coming to help." She lifted the wood board and slid the cut-up onions into the hot pan.
I sucked in a breath, the spices tingling my nostrils. "No problem, meal prep day is a big deal." It probably didn't hurt that I didn't have much else going on. But even if I did, I always tried to make time for her.
Spatula in hand, Mom stirred the ingredients together. The smell of curry filled the room as she worked. "Anything new at the store?"
"Nope, same old. Business has been slow." I shrugged as I looked around the house. "Missing it?"
Whipping around, she rolled her eyes. "My life is so much calmer without having to share a bookstore with your dad."
After he passed, Mom handed the keys over to me. She had no interest in running that place without him – even if it was a wildly stressful day-to-day life. Plus, I'd had ideas about the place for years and I could finally try some of them without my dad's input.
A silence settled over the kitchen, only the rumbling of the exhaust vent and the crackling skillet broke through. Until eventually, Mom bit her lip. "But I'd give a lot to have one more day with him in that place. Even if it did smell a little mildewy."
I looked up at her, her mind angered back to those late evenings closing up shop. Her eyelids grew heavy at the warmth of the memory.
"Well, a dehumidifier handles that problem pretty quick." I teased.
Startling back to the stove, Mom winked. "And that's why we put you in charge."
For a few minutes, her full attention stayed on the stove. Just watching her, I could see the memory of my dad lingering around her. A part of me wondered if I'd ever feel a love like that. The kind that haunts you once it's gone.
Maybe I already have. I swallowed hard at the thought. If Cat was it for me, I had a lonely next few decades ahead of me.
Biting my lip, I pulled out my phone's notes app. I scrolled down to a list titled "Ideas I'll Never Write" and found my way to the bottom after a few liberal swipes.
My finger hesitated over the keyboard, trying not to indulge the paranoid thought that my mom was staring me down from the stove. Every time I blinked, my mind filled with the images of a developing story. The plot came to me in those moments of darkness behind my eyelids.
Taking in a sharp breath, I surrendered and let my thumbs meet the glass screen. All of these ideas were messy, half-baked plots that were missing most of the ingredients. And between the shop, softball, and my social life, I never had time to flesh them out in any way.
But I wouldn't be able to sleep if the idea stayed caged in my skull. So instead, I released it into the endless void of notes app concepts.
If a hacker found this, they'd be able to have an entire career off of my ideas. The thought made me chuckle, drawing my mom's eyes back to me.
"Another one?" An eager smile took over her face, desperate to know what I had come up with.
Shrugging, I locked my phone and put it screen down on the counter. "Nothing worthwhile."
She shook her head. "You say that about all of them, Cleo."
I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling. "Because they're all just silly little thoughts."
Letting out a sigh, she turned back to the skillet. "Everything's just a thought until it's on the page. Do you think any book in that store started as something other than a silly little thought?"
Of course, she wasn't wrong. But she was my mom. She thought everything I touched was gold. In reality, it had been years since I'd exercised that muscle. I wasn't even sure I had it in me anymore.
"I'm just saying, the bookstore wasn't ever your dream." She raised her hands in surrender before turning back to the stove.
Biting my lip, I went back to my phone. But this time, I pulled open my phone to a text from Bri.
Dude. She's off the deep end.
My forehead wrinkled as I clicked the link she'd sent. The webpage loaded to a TMZ article headlined:
Former Softball Pro, Cat Collins, Flees NYC After Weekend Bender
As a habit, I tried not to gossip about people I knew from high school. New Winford was a small town and rumors spread like wildfire on the ridge on a dry summer day.
But Cat was different. She was the only person I'd ever let myself fall for. The years we spent together were some of the best I'd ever had. And it still didn't feel like it had been worth the fallout.
A part of me wished I could trust myself to reach out to her to ask if she was okay, or if I could help her in some way.
I typed out a quick message back to Bri:
Let's hope she stays the fuck out of NW.
Cat decided to go no-contact with me. And if it was what she really wanted, I would honor that. Even if it meant letting her spiral out of control.
Turning on her heels, my mom smiled at me. "Ready to eat?"