My Life Next Door

The Garretts were my bedtime story, long before I ever thought I’d be part of the story myself

You first,” he says. “I’m right behind you.”

In ten, nine, eight…”

“Is something going to blow up?” I ask.

“Shh. Perks of being a paperboy. I know exactly when this happens. Shh, Samantha. Watch.”

We lie back, hand in hand, look out over the ocean, and watch the sun rise over the roof of the world.

No dancing hula girls yet,” I note.

“If you feel like dancing—or doing the hula—be my guest

Clam Shack, where we had our first date.

“Come on, Sam.”

I take Jase’s hand and we walk on the beach.

Inside is a perfect puff of Queen Anne’s lace, fragile and blooming around a center as green as spring, with a note around the stem. Come next door. Your chariot awaits.

But what I loved was the view. And for so long, that was who I was. The girl who watched the Garretts. My life next door.

But I’m not that watcher anymore. What Jase and I have is real and alive. It has nothing to do with how things look from far away and everything to do with how they are up close. That won’t change.

My eyes fill. I hate this.

“Hell. Not this again. Stop it.” Tim waves his hand at my face frantically, as if he can shoo the emotions away like flies

I can only tell her another truth, however inconvenient.

“I love you, Mom.”

You’re not family.”

She looks at me, blinks. “I’m your mother.”

I stare at her, completely confused, but then I realize. She thinks I meant she wasn’t my family. In the moment, it feels true. And I suddenly know I’m standing somewhere very far away from her. All my strength, all my will, is diverted into defending this family. My mom…What she’s done…I can’t defend her