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"I think I'm going to get a ride home from Haven," I inform my mother Friday morning on the drive to school

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"I think I'm going to get a ride home from Haven," I inform my mother Friday morning on the drive to school. Groggy silence lays over the two of us like a warm blanket, and I find myself struggling to stay awake.

Mom hums in response. I feel her eyes on me without having to glance her way to confirm.

"She'll be bringing you home?" Mom's tone is clipped in a way I can tell is meant to hide her earnest excitement. No doubt she is taking my willingness to socialize as a sign that I am starting to be okay, that my life is returning to normal. I don't say aloud what I'm thinking, which is that this is not the case.

"I think," I mutter. I try to keep my expression neutral. I don't want Mom reading too much into this whole hanging out with Haven thing–though I suppose that is hypocritical of me, considering I've been doing this very thing all week: reading too much into what Haven inviting me over may mean. I can't stop myself from wondering what Haven inviting me over might mean for our relationship. Will we merely study together, as she suggested? Was the invite meant to be nothing more than friendly? Or was there something more hidden behind the question when she asked, as I first suspected–or maybe I am simply getting suspicions and hopes blurred, wishing for an underlying meaning behind her words that was in reality never intended.

"I mean, she invited me to hang out at her place for a while," I add. "To study. We have some reading homework assigned for English–we're in the same class. If it's okay I go, that is."

I eye my mother out of my peripheral vision. Her eyebrows are raised in slight shock. I can't remember the last time I asked her permission to do anything. This is for a multitude of reasons. For starters, I haven't really done much outside of the house since Dad passed. I haven't had the energy to be social. Then there's the fact that Mom hasn't acted much like a mother since it happened, so why would I ask her permission for anything anyway?

However, I can tell that Mom is pleased by my proposal. I suppose she takes my question as a sense that things between us are going back to how they once were–like a piece of a distorted puzzle falling into place. I don't know how to feel about this. I don't resent her as strongly as I have lately, but I'm not totally comfortable around her either. We've met somewhere in the middle of strangers and the mother-daughter duo we once were, and I suppose I don't entirely hate this new shift between us.

Even if she is totally overbearing at times nowadays and sort of annoying, it is nice to have my mom back. Not that I would ever share this information with her, that is.

"It's fine with me," Mom says after a moment of thoughtful silence. "So long as you come home safe."

"Duh," I remark sarcastically. Mom cuts me a stern look, though her lips turn upward the instant her stare locks on mine. I'm smiling, too.

I tell my mother goodbye once we reach our destination, soon exiting the vehicle and gazing around the schoolyard for Haven.

I spot her easily. Sunlight makes her golden hair appear to be a shimmering halo, her eyes as bright and clear as the sky above. Her smile is the most radiant of all as her gaze meets mine.

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