One year ago . . .

“Mom!” I call running down the driveway as she starts backing out of the garage. “Mom!”

I pant as I stop next to her window, watching as the clear glass slides down. Mom smiles out at me, her blue eyes tired from all day at work.

“Maisie,” she leans out the window. “Did you need something?”

I did . . . I mean I do. Every day Mom comes home from work, cleans up, which I guess would be brushing her hair and stuff. Then she goes out to pick up grocery’s. Every single day.

Why would she need to do that so much? Just stop at the store once a week and get all the food. That’s what I wanted to tell her after the first few times she came home and left. But then it became obvious to me that maybe _someone_ is what she’s after. Maybe she met someone.

“Can I come?” I hint, hoping she’ll just tell me she’s not actually going to the store. She never lies, and she can tell when I know she is.

Mom parts her lips brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Maisie,” Mom looks me right in the eyes. “It’s just the store . . . Nothing interesting.”

My heart sinks, so what is this? Mom can’t love going to the store this much, no one can. I nod sighing. “Yeah, I know.”

Mom gives me a tired smile. “I’ll be back soon,” she reaches out touching my cheek gently before the window rolls up and our silver car vanishes.

. . .

I wait a couple fo hours for Mom to come back. It’s never been this long of a wait before. Never. There’s defiantly someone, a guy that works there maybe.

I don’t know why this is crushing me so hard. I never got to meet my real dad. He died when I was three, I dont’ have any memories of him besides the one’s I’ve created in my head. So shouldn’t I be okay with Mom dating?

Wow . . . _Dating_. That doesn’t sound right. Why couldn’t Dad have just stayed away from his work? If he hadn’t stayed late that night, then the fire . . . It wouldn’t have killed him, it wouldn’t have destroyed my life.

. . .

Today . . .

I’ve been arguing with myself about weather or not I should tell Davian about my scar. It’s so personal something that only I know about. It scares me to have it be out in the open. To have him know I’m messed up on the inside more than he thinks.

A knock on the door startles me as I sit up on the couch, staring at the shut door. I grab the remote on the foot rest and pause the show that Aunt Trish and I started a couple nights ago.

_Maybe it’s Davian?_ I think as I look over at Aunt Trish. _He does know where I live . . . I think._

“I can get it?” I offer as Aunt Trish gives me a kind smile.

“Thanks, kid,” she pats my arm as we both rise of the warm couch. “I’ll refill this.” She holds uo the huge bowl of popcorn that we both devoured in minutes.

I walk slowly towards the door as another knock bangs against the wood. Maybe it’s not Davian, this guy or girl seems to be impatient. And I know Davian is someone who only asks once for something. He never asks twice. Which is bad and good at the same time.

I unlock the door twisting the knob as a tall man comes into view from the other side.

In his hands he has a blue baseball cap that he’s nervously twisting around.

“Are you . . . Maisie Bowden?” He asks, his voice trembling. As I look over him, I notice that his face is streaming with tears.

He seems about my mom’s age, maybe they were friends, or . . . Something like that.

I nod once, staring at his bare legs. It’s freezing out here for shorts, but I guess some habits are hard to break. “Yeah,” I say strongly. “That’s me.”

He smiles quickly motioning at me with his cap. “I . . . I knew your mom.” He licks his lips. “I . . .I was sorry to hear that she . . .”

“Thanks,” I cut him off before he can say passed away or left. I know it’s true and I’ve accepted it but I don’t like to be reminded. I have a feeling it’ll always be like that for me.

He gives me another nervous smile. “So . . . I just wanted to . . . Talk to you . . . About the funeral and all.”

What? Why would this random guy I’ve never even seen want to talk to me about my mom’s funeral?

“I’d like to help out,” he explains still fidgeting with his cap. “If that’s alright.”

I nod slowly, trying to understand what’s going on here. Did Mom really know this guy? Like good enough for him to offer to help at her funeral— Oh!

The store guy! The one Mom met up with every night last year until . . . Well until she couldn’t anymore.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “But who are you?”

The man gasps, throwing his hands out to his side. “Of course,” he chuckles. “I forgot . . . Your mom never told you about me . . . I’m Rae.”

He puts his base ball hat on backwards as we holds a hand out to me.

I take it, shaking it slowly. “Were you a friend of my mom’s”

Rae shakes his head, smiling sweetly at me. It’s the first time I’ve noticed all night that he’s actually really handsome. His black hair is combed nicely, and his pale, pale blue eyes are glowing in the darkness. It feels really weird to think that . . . He’s my mom’s guy. Which also feels weird.

“Kind of,” Rae licks his lips again. “We knew each other in high school but lost touch for a long time. We met again last year and started hanging out . . . I was going to ask her to marry me.”

His words echo through my mind. Marry her? Marry _my_ mom. How could he? I had a dad, I hadn’t even met him. I wonder what Mom would have said. Yes? I mean she seemed happy when she’d come back from the “store” or wherever it was she met up with . . . Rae.

“Oh,” I sigh, looking down at the ground. Suddenly I want to slam the door in his face, shouting “Goodbye Rae, never come back!”

But I don’t. I stand still, watching his closely. “I should go.” I finally say when he parts his lips. I don’t really want to hear what excuse he has for me. It couldn’t be good, nothing he’s said all night has been good.

“Right,” Rae motions to the TV that’s far behind me. “Sorry to bother you.”

I shake my head, as Rae steps back. “You didn’t.”

Rae nods once before he starts backing down the porch steps. “Good.”

“You can come,” I call after him. What! We don’t like him remeber. I think as Rae smiles at me. What are you doing?

“I’ll be there,” he promises his white eyes glowing with happiness and sadness at the same time. He reminds me of Mom, but I don’t know what it is. He looks nothing like her . . .Wait!

It’s not Mom he reminds me of . . .It’s me. The way he acts, the anxiety I can practically see floating around him.

I take a deep breath, realaxing on the threashold. “I know Mom will be happy.” I tell him, smiling as he walks to his car.

She will be . . . And maybe I will be too.