(RIVALS) The Upside of Falling ✔️

Chapter 29: A Thousand Pounds

Becca

I walked through the door to my apartment the next day and was immediately greeted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. I had spent the entire day helping Cassie redecorate her room, so to say I was starving was an understatement.

Walking into the kitchen, I spotted my mother peering into the oven, the light illuminating her face. She was wearing an apron, her hair pinned back into a loose knot on her neck.

"What's the occasion?" I asked while walking to the table. I placed my bag on it and watched my mother curiously.

She turned to me and smiled warmly. "No occasion. Just baking for my daughter," she said, but she wouldn't meet my eye. She grabbed a sponge from the sink and began to wipe down the counter.

Something was wrong. My mother never bakes. Never. The last time she did was before my father left. Her shoulders slouched as she scrubbed the counter. The smile left her face and she was too focused on her hands, her brow furrowed as whatever she was thinking so hard about consumed her.

"Mom," I began, walking up to her and taking the sponge out of her hand. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" She replied too quickly, the fake smile returning to her face once more. "Let me get you some milk, love." She walked over to the cupboard and took out a glass, filling it with milk from the fridge.

"Mom, stop," I grabbed the glass out of her shaking hand. She looked as if she was about to cry. "Tell me what's wrong," I begged her, my mind going a mile a minute.

"Becca..." She trailed off, her eyes wandering around the kitchen before resting on mine. She took a deep breath and crossed her arms. "I'm leaving this week for a business trip," she told me slowly.

My mom had gone on plenty of trips in the past for work, at least once a year. Whenever she left, I would spend the few days at Cassie's house with her parents. This wasn't something out of the ordinary, so why was my mother acting so strange?

"Okay," I laughed, not understanding her odd behaviour. "I'll spend the week with Cassie, like I always do." I told her, shrugging as I took a sip of milk.

"Becca," her voice was strained. The smile left my face when I took in the look on hers. I dreaded the words she would say next.

"I've been speaking to your father." My mother's words were cut off as the glass slipped from my hand, falling to the floor and shattering into a hundred tiny fragments.

No.

I stared at my mother, frozen while words escaped me. She was staring down at the glass on the floor, a tear spilling down her cheek. Her eyes met mine and she suddenly looked nothing like the woman who raised me.

"He wants to make amends with you," she said softly. She took a step towards me with her arms out stretched. I stepped back quickly, out of reach.

The glass crunched under my shoes, filling the tense silence that loomed in the air.

The subject of my father was something I had avoided for the past six years. I buried him deep down in my heart and in my mind, preferring to forget about it than to actually face the hurt and the pain. I turned the sadness into hatred, it was easier to cope with the idea of hating him than the idea of missing him.