Sweetheart

55

Lizzie
December 2020

I'm left standing in front of the closed door, stunned. Aaron is heading back upstairs, but his rigid body tells me that he's not relaxed at all. Understandably so.

I turn around and follow him. As soon as I start climbing the stairs, the front door creaks open again. Aaron, who was halfway done with the stairs, looks behind his shoulder and runs back down. I flinch a little and quickly follow him into the living room. In any other situation, this scene would've been hilarious.

"Get out," he states.

"Aaron—"

"Get out of my house."

Arthur Kingsford isn't a man you play with. His scowl and creased brows are proof of it. "Your house, huh? That's new." He turns to me and offers me a polite smile. "I suppose I don't need any introductions, do I?"

"I suppose not," I reply, sour. I can deny my dislike towards this man.

Arthur nods once. "And you are..."

I open my mouth and reply, "Elizabeth Wright."

"That Elizabeth Wright?"

"The one that can put you through a lot of legal problems with a phone call? Yes, that Elizabeth Wright," I answer, folding my arms.

Arthur grins and looks at Aaron. "She's feisty. I like her."

Shame I don't like you. "Get out of here. Now," Aaron grounds out, aggressive.

"You're mother's outside."

I can see Aaron's chest stop as he skips a breath. "If you're playing—"

"I am not. She's in the car, grabbing her purse or something. I'm sure she'll join us in a matter of seconds."

Aaron strides towards the door as Arthur is still speaking. He swings it open and freezes in front of the stunning woman standing in front of him. The woman sobs, and Aaron pulls her in for a hug he's been waiting for for two years.

———

Aaron
December 2020

I'd almost forgotten my mother's smell. Sweet like vanilla, occasionally mixed with roses when she put on perfume. Today it's just vanilla. Simple as that.

I always loved her hugs. She's a small woman — probably shorter than Lizzie — but her arms could embrace me tighter than any rope.

I'm taller than her — way taller than her — but it doesn't stop me from snuggling my face in the crook of her neck like when I was a kid. With the only exception that now she has to stand on tip-toes and I have to bend down. Tightening my grip around her, I lift her off the ground.

She squeals and laughs, and God knows how much I've missed my mom's laugh. There is music in everything she does.

I set her back down and we pull back enough to see each other's faces. Green eyes into green eyes, at last. "Hi, Mom," I break the silence, and it's like I'm a little kid again, coming back from a trip with school, crying because I missed my mom.

Her cheeks are stained with happy tears, and I know mine are too. I don't care, though. My mom is here. "Hi, baby."

I never realized how her voice is like a symphony. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." She sniffs, hugging me again quickly. "God, look at you. You've gotten so big and tall," she notes, squeezing my arms.

I chuckle. "You stayed small," I joke. "Come inside."