Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(14)

"Help yourself to whatever," she said from the doorway. The tight space didn't allow enough space for two people to avoid each other. I peered in the refrigerator to find condiments and left over Chinese food that looked like it had been in there awhile.

"Thanks," I replied, closing the door.

"Guess we need to go shopping, huh?" she noted with a nervous laugh.

My mother stepped back with her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, giving me room to walk across the foyer to the living room. I could feel her eyes following me, adding to the mounting anxiety. I felt like I should say something, to make an attempt at some sort of conversation, but I had no idea where to start.

So, I stood in the middle of the living room, playing nervously with my fingers, taking in the brown couch and love seat in front of the television. A spindled rocking chair rested in front of the front window. I paused in my tenuous inspection.

It took me a moment before I realized where I knew it from. It used to be in my bedroom when I lived with her and my father.

The sight of it caused my chest to tighten. I wasn't prepared for the sudden flash of memories. I wanted to go over and touch it, hoping that by running my fingers along the carved arms I'd be filled with the happiness of the memories stored within its frame. Stories being told while wrapped in strong arms, rocking back and forth. Whispered words of love and promises as I drifted to sleep to the thumps of his heart against my ear. I could feel her staring at me as I remained motionless, my eyes locked on the chair.

"I have a ton of movies." Her voice crashed through my reverie, bringing me back to the present. It took me a moment to connect with what she'd said. I nodded at the built in bookshelf next to the window that was lined with DVD cases.

"Oh, that's great."

On the other side of the living room was a large sideboard displaying a sound system surrounded by an array of framed pictures. I walked over to them. I couldn't say I was expecting pictures of me, but my stomach hollowed when I didn't see any. I glanced around for any trace that I existed, or that she'd had a life with my father―only to find the room filled with strangers.



       
         
       
        

"Pictures of my friends," she explained briefly without going into any further detail. I nodded, fearing that my voice would reveal the hurt.

"So, you have school tomorrow? Ready to go back?" my mother asked as I thumbed through the CDs she had stacked in another built in nook in the corner.

"Not really," I answered honestly, recognizing she was trying to have a conversation but I was doing a lousy job of contributing.

"When's your next basketball game?"

"Friday," I responded, scanning the room.

"Would you mind if I went?" She sounded nervous. The unease in her voice drew my attention.

"You can come," I answered, finally looking at her with an awkward smile. The tension in her blue eyes slowly melted away.

"Great. Thank you." That one answer changed everything. The next thing I knew, she was pointing to people in the pictures and talking about where they were and what was going on. She pulled out a couple of CDs insisting I listen to them because they were life altering.

I didn't say much. I didn't think I could have gotten a word in if I wanted to. Her nervous chatter flowed without pause, as she sat in front of the player and spread CDs across the floor. I tried to relax as I listened to her stories, inspecting the woman before me and trying to connect with her as my mother. It felt like a million years ago that I actually had one. I had no idea how to act around her, or what to say.

"So do you really like your room?" she asked after slipping a CD into the player.

"I really do," I admitted honestly.

"I was pretty useless in designing it. I just let Anna and Sara pick out everything," my mother confessed, her cheeks reddening.

A knock at the door interrupted her search for the song that reminded her of her trip to New Orleans last year. I watched as she answered it. She appeared puzzled. "Um, hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Thomas. I'm Evan. I'm looking for Emma." I jumped up from my cross-legged position on the floor and practically ran to the door.

"Hi," I greeted in a rush before my mother could say anything. Evan peeked around the door and his signature smile crept on his face, causing my heart to stutter. I was beyond relieved to see him.

"Well, come on in, Evan." He stepped into the foyer to allow my mother to close the door. "I'm Rachel. It would completely freak me out if you called me Mrs. Thomas. Mrs. Thomas was Derek's mother, and she didn't like me very much. Besides my last name is Walace, so if anything I would be Ms. Walace, but I really would prefer Rachel." Evan and I were stilled by the burst of information that spewed from her mouth in a single breath. Her cheeks reddened and she laughed awkwardly when she found us staring at her. "Wow. I have no idea why I just said all that. I'm not usually this nervous. Okay, yes I am." She reacted to our stunned faces and said, "I'm so sorry."