Chapter 221 (1/2)

“Tessa.” I call her out of her deep sleep. She’s probably drooled all over the damn window.

My mum appears at the front door only seconds after the headlights hit her windows. She pushes open the screen door and rushes down the small steps like a madwoman. Tessa’s eyes open, and she focuses on my mum, who now is pulling at the passenger-door handle to get to her. What is it with everyone liking her so much?

“Tessa! Hardin!” My mum’s voice is high and overly excited as Tessa unbuckles her seat belt and climbs out of the car. Womanly hugs and greetings are exchanged while I grab the bags from the trunk.

“I’m so glad you two are here.” My mum smiles, wiping a tear from her eyes. This is going to be a long weekend.

“Us, too.” Tessa answers for me and allows my mum to pull her by the hand into the small house.

“I don’t like tea, so there won’t be any stereotypical English welcome here, but I made some coffee. I know you both love your coffee,” my mum hums.

Tessa laughs, thanking her. My mum is keeping her distance from me, obviously trying not to set me off during the weekend of her wedding. The two women disappear into the kitchen, and I take the stairs to my old bedroom to get rid of these bags. I hear their laughter travel through the house, and I try to convince myself that nothing catastrophic will happen this weekend. Everything will be fine.

The room is empty except for my old twin bed and a dresser. The wallpaper has been stripped off, leaving a hideous trail of glue along the walls. My mum is obviously trying to get the place ready for the new owner, but seeing the place like this actually makes me feel a little strange.

Chapter one hundred and thirty-one

TESSA

I still can’t believe you both came,” Trish says to me. She hands me a cup of coffee—black, just the way I like it—and I smile at her thoughtfulness. She’s a beautiful woman, with bright eyes and an equally bright smile—and she’s dressed in a deep blue tracksuit.

“I’m so glad we could make it,” I tell her. I take a glance at the clock on the oven; already 10 p.m. The long flight and time change have thrown me off.

“Me, too. If it wasn’t for you, I know he wouldn’t be here.” She places her hand over mine. Unsure how to respond, I smile. She catches on to my discomfort and changes the subject.

“How was the flight? Did Hardin behave?” Her laugh is gentle, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that her son was a complete tyrant throughout the security scan and half of the flight.

“He was fine.” I take a sip of the steaming coffee just as Hardin joins us in the kitchen. The house is old and cramped, too many walls close off too much of the space. The only decorations are brown moving boxes piled in the corners, but I feel oddly comfortable and at ease in Hardin’s childhood home. I can tell by the look on his face when he leans down to walk under the archway leading to the kitchen that he doesn’t feel the same way about this house. These walls hold too many memories for him, and instantly my impression of the place begins to dim.

“What’s with the wallpaper?” he asks.

“I was removing it all to paint before selling, but the new owners are planning to tear the house down anyway. They want to build an entirely new home on the lot,” his mother explains. I like the idea of the house being demolished.