The Mother Road

  ****

  There is a knock at my front door, but I don’t even bother to answer it because I know who it is and I know he will let himself in.

  After I read Mama McMann’s letter, I stuffed it away in my sock drawer, finished up my work day, and then got lost in some of Paul’s favorite brew, thanks to the left-overs from his wedding. Dinner isn’t a concern of mine tonight; all I care about is trying to get drunk enough to not have to think about making any sort of decision about my future.

  “It’s not polite to let people wait outside for you,” Bernie says, walking into my place with a plate of food. He sneers when he sees the empty bottles of booze on my coffee table and my butt on the floor, playing with the old braided rug Mama McMann made when I was younger. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I look at my beer bottle and then hold it up for him to see. “Drinkin’. What about you?”

  “Not acceptable.” Bernie puts down the plate of food, grabs me by the back of the collar, and lifts me off the ground. I don’t fight him because you never fight Bernie. Instead, I allow him to drag me to the kitchen sink, where he douses my head in cold water. “I will not have you wasting your life away like your father did. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” I answer, in between blasts of water to the face.

  Bernie lets go of my shirt and shoves a dish towel at me. He steps back and crosses his arms over his chest, standing tall and a little scary, I’m not going to lie.

  “What were you trying to do? How is drinking alcohol going to help the problem you have now?”

  Why do I feel like I’m twelve all over again when Bernie caught me and Paul sharing a beer out in the barn? Probably one of the scariest moments of my life. We didn’t drink again until we turned twenty-one. Bernie has the ability, with one eyebrow tilt, to put the fear of God in you. It’s terrifying.

  “I was hoping to forget,” I answer honestly.

  “Forget? Do you believe alcohol has some magical power that washes away everything you want to forget? Newsflash, dumbass, you might forget until you pass out, but the next morning, you will wake up with your head hammering out of your ass and the memory of your problem looming over you. The only way to fix a problem is to face it head on. So, tell me, what’s so terrible that you feel like you have to get lost in the devil’s drink?”

  Funny he calls it that when he partook in some Satan sips at the wedding.

  “My problem? Well, I’m in love with your daughter, the kind of love that consumes you to the point of not being able to function, um, she hates me, and we live three thousand miles apart.”

  “I only see one problem in that sentence. You live three thousand miles apart, but that’s solvable with a plane ticket.”

  “It’s not that easy.” I pace back and forth. “She won’t talk to me; she didn’t even say goodbye to me when she left. She wants nothing to do with me, Bernie. I know it’s my fault, because I pushed her away…I needed to push her away.”

  “Because you were scared?”

  My head shoots up at him to see a grin on his face. “I’m not scared.”

  “Yes, you are. You say you wanted to save her from staying here, but in reality, you’re saving yourself from moving past your safety net. The only time you’ve spent away from this farm was when you were helping Thomas four years ago, but even that was short-lived after Marley moved out. You came back and lived on this farm, helping out, never really exploring outside of the little radius you were familiar with. You’re scared of failure. The only reason you put your soap out there for people to judge is because I practically made you.” Bernie holds my shoulder and speaks to me in a sincere tone. “I get it, Porter. Your dad wasted your family’s money on chasing his dreams, and when they didn’t pan out, he wound up drinking his worries away. You want safe, you want to be comfortable. That’s no surprise. But life isn’t worth living if you never put your heart on the line, if you don’t try new things. Pain can be short-lived, ‘could have beens’ will live with you forever. Don’t live your life in a bowl full of regrets, Porter, because you’re scared of the unknown.”

  “But what if I do fail?” I can hear the little boy in my voice come out.

  Without blinking, Bernie pulls me into a hug and says, “Then I will be waiting here for you. Just because Marley is my daughter doesn’t make you any less my son. No matter what happens, I will always be here waiting for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  **MARLEY**

  “I’m glad you dragged your carcass off the couch to take a shower. You were really starting to smell up this tiny apartment. The only reason this place doesn’t smell like rotten vagina on a hot sunny day is because of that Man Soap over there. Seriously, I need to give Johnny some of that.”

  My head stays still on the couch pillow, but I glance at the soap that showed up on Monday to test. The minute I opened the box, I was gut punched to the stomach. Images and memories of Porter clouded my brain, reminding me of his words, of the way he treated me on the farm, of the last night we had together.

  After closer examination of the soap, I was able to see it was made in upstate New York. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Porter’s reaction to my rant about soap in the main market, his ability to shut Paul up before he spilled the beans, the reason why he was in California, he is the creator of Man Soap and didn’t believe he could tell me.

  Instead of being a manipulative bitch and telling the Pederson Group the soap was crap, I tested the soap and gave my honest reaction to it and reported back. If I dated a man who used this soap, I would be all over him, like a moth drawn to a flame. Just like my travels across country, I couldn’t stay away. Then again, it wasn’t the soap that drew me to Porter, it was a benefit, but what drew me to Porter was…him.

  But that doesn’t matter, because to him, I’m a measly little squirt who used to chase him around the farm. I still try to think why he thought it necessary to lead me on if nothing was ever going to happen. Was it some cruel prank him and Paul were pulling on each other? No, Paul wasn’t that cruel. Yes, he used my mascara brush to decorate his balls, but playing with my heart, he wouldn’t do that.

  “Is it okay if Johnny comes over tonight?” Marisa asks, sniffing one of the bars of soap. “I want to take a bath with him and rub this all over his body.”

  “I don’t care what you do,” I reply, burying my head into my pillow.

  “Are you ever going to unpack? I love you, you know that, but our apartment is small and your bag takes up a lot of space. Are all these clothes dirty?” I hear her digging around, but don’t bother to stop her. If she wants to touch my dirty underwear, then she can have at it. “Did you really throw out your Urban Decay Naked Pallet because Paul spit in it?”

  Marisa practically flew to New York to slit Paul’s throat when I told her that. In the time Marisa has been living with me, she’s found, even as a best friend, you don’t mess with my makeup. For Paul to have the audacity to mess with my makeup was unforgiveable in her eyes.

  “I did. Who knows what kind of mouth germs he has? I wasn’t about to put that on my eyes and contract some kind of venereal eye conjunctivitis. I can pull off many things, but a vagina disease on my eye is one thing I can’t get away with.”

  “Fair enough,” Marisa nods and then keeps digging in my bag. “Oh, look at this, a love letter!”

  “What?” I look up to see Marisa holding an envelope in her hand. “Give me that!”

  I swat at her, but she moves out of the way. “Could it be from Porter? If it is, he has some pretty girly handwriting.”

  I lift my body off the couch and lunge at her, pinning her to the ground. Thanks to my childhood that consisted of me constantly trying to get things back from Paul, I’ve mastered the tackle to the ground. I pull the envelope from her hand and look at my name on the front, written in my mother’s handwriting. I fall off Marisa and to the ground while I stare at it.

  “Ouch, you bitch! I think you sprained
my pinky finger. I need that when I’m tickling Johnny’s butthole. Pinkies only for him.”

  I don’t respond. I just stare as tears cloud my eyes.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Marisa asks, finally cluing in to the serious moment.

  “It’s a letter from my mom. My dad must have slipped it in my bag when he was putting it in the back of the car before I left for the airport.”

  “Are you going to read it?” Marisa wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly.

  When we first met, one of the things we bonded over was losing our moms at a young age and having to take care of the household in their place. Marisa knows more than anyone the emotions I’m feeling right now.

  “It has to be important if my dad put it in my bag.”

  “Maybe you should call him.”

  I shake my head and stand up. “I’m going to go read this in my room, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. If you need me, I’ll be here.”

  I sadly smile at her and then lock myself in my room. I sit on my bed so my back is against the headboard and my legs are crossed in front of me. My phone is next to me on my nightstand, and I think about calling my dad, but then change my mind and open the envelope.

  A picture of Porter and me as kids falls out as well as a letter. Before reading the letter, I examine the picture. We are out in front of Oakey, right before my mom passed away. I’m looking at the camera, holding up a heart I cut out of construction paper with writing on it that says ‘I’m yours’ and Porter has his arm around my shoulders, but he’s not looking at the camera. He’s looking at me with a smile on his face.

  I remember that day like it was yesterday. My mom just started going to chemotherapy and as a surprise for when she came home, we decided to make a bunch of Valentine letters for her. She came home early and was delighted to help us. She took pictures of us with her Polaroid all afternoon, this being one of them.

  The picture reminds me of the good times we had before my mom left this earth, but what I can’t get over is the look in Porter’s eyes; it’s the same way he looked at me during the trip, during our last night together, a look of love.

  Holding the picture to my heart, I open the letter my mom left and read it.

  My dearest baby girl,

  This is one of the hardest letters I’ve ever had to write because I know if you’re reading this, that means I had to leave you too early in this lifetime. I had to leave you, young and without a mother to help you through your teenage years. It kills me to know I won’t be able to see you on your prom night, graduate from high school, or help you pick out your wedding dress.

  Even though it pains me to miss such important milestones in your life, I know I raised a beautiful, confident woman, who can carry herself through those moments knowing I’m not too far away, that I rest in your heart, helping guide you through this confusing yet beautiful world.

  You’re probably wondering why you are just receiving this letter now and why it includes a picture of you and Porter. When Porter came into our lives, I knew he was something special, a little rough around the edges, but a true blessing to our family. When he came over to introduce himself, he didn’t just come to meet friends, no, he came home. Through and through, he’s always belonged with us.

  I watched you three grow up together, chase each other around the yard, and I was privileged for a short time to see something develop between you and Porter. Paul might be his best friend, but you’re his true match.

  Porter is special. He stems from a rough family background, but despite his terrible upbringing, he has a heart of gold and his loyalty is uncompromising. He’s sweet, respectful, and protective. I knew when he was around, nothing bad would ever happen to you because he would never let it happen.

  Now, you’re at a point in your life where you can see him as the man I knew he would grow to be; a faithful, loving, funny, and determined man. I only wish I could see that man in person, the man I always knew he would be. You have a choice, baby girl. This letter was given to you because you’ve finally given into the universal force that has pulled you two together. It might be scary and you might have differences from time to time, but what I can tell you is that giving your heart over to another human to cherish is a feeling that nothing else will come close to.

  If I can wish anything upon you, it’s to fall deeply and madly in love with a man who will treat you with respect, who will embrace you during treacherous times, who will bring you flowers, and who will praise your accomplishments (I know you will be full of them). I want him to honor you, dream with you, and work hard to maintain and fulfill your relationship.

  If my wish list for you is fulfilled by Porter (I have a feeling it might be) then jump, baby girl. Fall head over heels in love with him, throw caution to the wind, and give yourself over. Don’t just be with him, but meld together with him, fuse your souls together so there is no way you will ever part.

  To this day, I’m still fused to your father, and I will forever will be. You deserve the same.

  I love you, sweetheart. Through and through, no matter where your life takes you, I will be with you.

  Love you forever and always,

  Your Mom

  I can barely see through my tears as I read the last sentence. My sobs are taking over my body and I sink down into my bed, under my covers, and grab my phone. I dial home.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi…Dad,” I cry into the phone.

  “Hi, Buttons. Did you find Mom’s letter?”

  I nod, but he can’t see that, so I try to calm my emotions to answer him. “I did. I don’t understand, why give that to me now?”

  “Sweetie, do I really need to answer that?”

  “Dad, he wants nothing to do with me.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “He didn’t have to, it was all in his body language. It doesn’t matter now anyway. I’m here, he’s there. Also, he failed to mention his little soap project. Did you know about that?”

  “I helped fund it,” my dad answers, matter of factly.

  “Annnnd you didn’t think to tell me about it?”

  “No one knew about it, sweetie. Paul only found out a few weeks ago. Porter is a simple man, he doesn’t like to talk about things very much, especially if he’s unsure about them. He wanted to make sure it was a solid project before he told everyone.”

  I shake my head, more tears streaming from my eyes. “And there I was, putting it down in front of him before even giving it a chance. What he must think of me.”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. Tell me, how are you doing after reading your mom’s letter?”

  “Honestly? Confused and gutted.” I look at the picture of me and Porter and cry-smile, loving the looks on our faces. That’s when things were so simple.

  “That’s expected. I wish I lived closer so I could give you a hug. It’s only been four days and I want you back home.”

  “I think the same thing sometimes too, Dad. I wonder what life would be like if I never left. I wonder if Porter and I would actually be together or if it wouldn’t have worked out.”

  “I’m going to stop you right there before you go wondering about everything. Marley, you’ve made something of yourself. You figured out early on what you wanted to do with your life and you went after it, setting goal after goal, and look at you now. You’re a successful beauty blogger who is sought after by major companies to test their products. You were brave enough to move across the country by yourself and you were brave enough to say goodbye to a past that you were very much attached to. I couldn’t be more proud to call you my daughter, so don’t for one moment regret one decision you made, because those decisions have made you the person you are today.”

  I was so not ready for such an emotional day today; I didn’t properly hydrate.

  “Where do I go from here?”

  “That’s not up for me to say, Buttons. You choose your own destiny.”

  There’s a
knock at my door. “Hold on, Dad.” I call out to the door. “What’s up, Marisa?”

  “Uh, there’s a package here for you.”

  “You can bring it in here.” I wipe my nose with my sleeve and turn my attention back to my dad. “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay. Hey, can I call you back? Thomas is on the other line and I’ve been trying to get in touch with him all day.”

  “Okay, sure.”

  I tell my dad I love him and hang up the phone, my door opens, and when I expect to see Marisa with a package, I instead see Porter with a luggage bag hanging over his shoulder, flowers, and a small wrapped present in his hand.

  Instantly sitting up and straightening out my appearance, I ask, “What are you doing here?”

  My heart hammers in my chest as I see him close the door on Marisa’s wiggling eyebrows and drop his bag on the floor. He sits on the edge of my bed and places the present on my nightstand, along with the flowers. He’s more handsome than ever in a pair of grey jeans, stylish tan boots, and a white T-shirt. His hair is tossed to the side, red hat nowhere to be seen.

  “Hey, Marbles.” He leans in and swipes under my nose. “You got a little snot leakage there, but I got it for you.”

  I can feel my face turn red as the back of my hands try to wipe up anything he might have missed. His dimple peeks out as he smiles and scoots closer so there is barely a foot between us.

  “Porter, what are you doing here?” I ask again.

  “You left without allowing me to give you something. Why are you going to ruin a guy’s game like that?”

  I lift an eyebrow at him, his jovial nature is throwing me off, along with the uterus clenching smell coming off of him and the way his muscles move under his shirt.

  Grabbing the present and the flowers, he hands them to me. “Your mom always said a girl deserves to smell spring mornings.” My eyes water up as he nods at the present. “Open it.” Finally, he looks a little unsure while he waits for me to open it, so I take my time. I would like to see him squirm a little after everything we’ve gone through.