Falling For Us Again

9. JUDGEMENTS

Chapter 9

JUDGEMENTS

Dylan

My mother’s house stands tall against the backdrop of the afternoon sky, an imposing structure that exudes the old elegance of our family status. Its brick fa?ade is painted a tasteful shade of ivory, contrasted by deep green shutters that frame the windows like eyelids. The large, arched windows reflect the sunlight, creating a warm glow that beckons us inside. A meticulously manicured lawn stretches out in front of the house, dotted with vibrant flower beds that burst with color—red roses, purple lavender, and yellow daffodils arranged in perfect harmony.

The cobblestone driveway winds its way up to the entrance, flanked by tall, sturdy oak trees that have stood the test of time, their leaves rustling softly in the gentle breeze. The driveway ends in a circular courtyard adorned with a central fountain, its water cascading gracefully over a sculpted marble basin. The sound of the water adding to the otherwise quiet afternoon.

I park the car and glance over at Kim, my sister's daughter, who sits in the passenger seat, swinging her legs impatiently.

"Ready to see Nana?" I ask with a smile, attempting to match her enthusiasm.

Kim nods eagerly. "Yeah! I made her a drawing," she says, holding up a colorful piece of paper decorated with rainbows and hearts.

"She's going to love it," I assure her, though my thoughts are elsewhere.

As we step out of the car, the front door swings open, and my mother stands there, her face lighting up at the sight of Kim. Her usually stern features soften instantly, and she opens her arms wide.

“Nana!” Kim screams excitedly, running towards her.

“There’s my sweetheart,” my mother coos, bending down to envelop Kim in a warm embrace. The sight of them together brings a smile to my face, despite the knot of tension that always seems to accompany my visits here.

Kim says as shyly as her six-year-old self can muster, “I have something to show you.”

“Oh, you have something to show me?” My mother beams. “I’m excited.”

I walk up the front porch and lean in to kiss my mother's cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

The front porch is expansive, with white pillars supporting the overhanging roof. A pair of elegant wrought-iron chairs and a small table sit invitingly near the entrance, where my mother often enjoys a morning coffee or an evening chat.

“I’ve been waiting for you all day,” she says, her tone carrying a slight reproach.

“I’m sorry. There was a last-minute large order at the café.”

My mother nods, her attention still fully on Kim as she proudly displays her drawing. "Look, Nana, I made this for you!"

My mother takes the drawing, her eyes softening. It’s a drawing of our family together sitting on the porch as we gaze at the moon and twinkling stars. In Kim’s drawing, everyone has a smile on their faces, and my mother wraps a hand over me. I smile at the irony. Our fraught relationship is lost on her innocent self.

My mother murmurs, her voice soft. "It's beautiful, darling. Let's hang it on the fridge."

Kim beams with pride as they head to the kitchen. The scent of freshly baked cookies wafts through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of my mother's favorite lavender-scented candles.

The interior of the house is just as grand as the exterior, with high ceilings and crystal chandeliers that catch the light. The walls are adorned with family portraits and tasteful artwork, each piece carefully chosen by my mother to complement the classic decor. The living room features a large fireplace, its mantle decorated with an array of framed photographs, and elegant vases filled with fresh flowers.

My family’s house is one of the grandest in Hartlow. My parents, both accomplished doctors, were driven by a relentless pursuit of excellence. Their careers took them across countries, from bustling cities to remote corners of the world.

This ceaseless movement meant that I spent most of my formative years at a prestigious boarding school in London.

Despite the exciting and varied experiences that came with their professional lives, my parents were never truly content with city life. The frenetic pace, the constant noise, and the impersonal nature of the city seemed to wear on them.

Choosing to settle down in Hartlow was a significant but welcome shift from their previous lifestyle. The decision to move was driven by a desire for peace and a return to simplicity.

A few years after their move, my father died. His abrupt passing was a devastating blow. I came back home to live with my mother. My older my older sister, Victoria, remained in London, since she was already enrolled in college.

“Nana, can I watch Barbie please?” Kim asks, tugging on my mother’s hands.

“Sure, sweetheart.”

I grab a banana on the dining table and walk back to the living room where Kim is already settled on the couch watching Barbie for the umpteenth time.

My mother glances over at me, her eyes sharp and probing as we resume our dance of small talk to cover the awkwardness between us. “How’s the cafe?”

I shrug as I bite into the banana. “Maggie’s running it like the military, so all’s well. She sends her regards.”

She nods. “My regards to her as well. Tell her to come visit me one of these days.”

My mother likes Maggie a lot, and she has even asked why we’re not together yet. I’ve told her that Maggie’s just a close friend and business partner.

“Will do.”

"I heard Jenna's back in town."

I stiffen at the mention of her name. I’ve not seen her since THAT Saturday. I spent the night, and it felt like we made up for ten years of passion in one night. I didn’t realize how much I had missed touching her. Even now I marvel about how perfectly she fit against my body, as if made for it. We didn’t talk about anything, just felt.

Before she woke up the next morning, I had left.

What we shared that night was magical, and I don’t think I’ll be able to forget it ever. But I also know that we have such a complicated history that one night of incredible sex won’t be enough to fix it.

It’s been about a week now, and she hasn’t been to the cafe. I haven’t reached out to her either, even though I can’t get her out of my mind. That night seems to be on continuous replay in my dreams making me wake up with a hard-on and an irritable mood.

Like Jenna, sometimes I also blame my mother for her leaving. If she hadn’t been so against our friendship and eventual relationship, maybe Jenna would have trusted me more.

My mother never liked her for some reason, and it bothered me deeply. Maybe if she hadn’t sent me back to London when Jenna was going through the worst time of her life, or if I had insisted on staying in Hartlow, or if Jenna’s dad had been a better man...

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

“Dylan?” My mother’s voice cuts through my thoughts, her eyebrows raised in question.

I nod my head, pushing those wishful thoughts away. Unfortunately, wishing doesn’t change things. I have to deal with the present.

"Yes, she is," I reply, remembering her question. I try to keep my tone neutral. My mother is very observant, and I don't want to get into discussing Jenna with her.

“Have you seen her?”

“Yes.”

She purses her lips but doesn't press further, instead turning her attention back to Kim, whose rapt attention was on the screen. My mother pats her hair affectionately as they sing the songs together. I watch the movie with them, but I doze off within a few minutes. I had seen it too many times to count.

Later, when the movie ended, Kim clapped her hands, a satisfaction on her face. Her clap wakes me up, and I yawn, brushing a palm over my face.

“Uncle Dylan, did you enjoy the movie?”

I nod, trying to stifle another yawn as I raise a thumbs up.

"How about we go outside and play on the swing set?" My mother says.

Kim cheers, and as they head out to the backyard, I follow, my mind drifting back to the last time I brought Jenna here.

It was after school, and my mom wasn’t supposed to be home. Instead of hanging out in town, I convinced Jenna to come here. She’d been avoiding me all day, and I wanted to know what was going on. I was waiting outside her classroom to catch her after school was over.

“Jenna,” I called, grabbing her arm as she was about to dash out.

She flinched at my touch, and that’s when I realized she had an injury there.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice full of concern. She averted her gaze, her eyes filling with tears. Did he hurt you again?

“Leave me alone, Dylan.” She snatched her hand back, slung her bag over her shoulder, and ran out.

I chased after her until I caught up with her.

“Why are you pushing me away? I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” she replied, her voice sharp.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m your friend, and that’s what friends do.”

“Leave me alone, Dylan.

“No,” I said firmly.

She kept walking. I followed her.

After a while, she sighed and turned back. Her exhaustion was apparent on her face.

“What do you want from me? Everyone avoids me like the plague. Why don’t you?” She asked, exasperated.

“Because I like you and I want to be your friend.”

“Well, I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Can I try to change your mind?”

“No.”

“I’m pretty resilient. I’ll keep trying.”

She scoffed, shaking her head.

I took a step closer to her. “Come on.”

We walked in comfortable silence. She didn’t say much, and I let her enjoy my company in whatever way she preferred.

“People don’t like me much here,” she said quietly.

“Because you’re too smart for your own good?”

“That would be understandable, but I think they just avoid me because my family is dysfunctional. Maybe they think a violent father is a communicable disease.”

She laughed, but I could hear the pain in her voice.

“It’s okay, though. I don’t like most people either.”

“Oh, good thing I made the cut, then,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“No, you didn’t. You imposed yourself and followed me home every day. You should be scared, though. That only means I’ll bring you bad luck and ruin the trajectory of your life.”

I laughed. “I think, you give yourself too much credit.”

“We’ll see.”

“Where are we going?” she asked after I passed a different route to our spot in town.

“To my house. I want to look at that arm.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re persistent.”

“Yes.”

When we arrived at my house, Jenna’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of the grandeur. The house stood tall and impressive, its manicured lawns and elegant structure a stark contrast to her world.

“So, you’re the rich kid. I heard a wealthy family moved to town a few months ago. No wonder you looked so sheltered and spoiled.” She looks at me as if seeing me for the first time.

“Ouch. Well, I’m privileged, alright. I don’t know about spoiled though,” I said, trying to keep the tone light.

Jenna shook her head, a bemused expression on her face. “It must be nice, living in a place like this.”

“It has its perks,” I admitted, “but it also has its downsides.”

“Like what?”

“Like people assuming things about you,” I said pointedly.

She laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

I led her to the living room and retrieved the first aid kit. Jenna glanced around, taking in the surroundings with a mixture of awe and wariness.

“You’ll need to roll up your sleeves so I can see,” I said gently.

She hesitated, her eyes falling to her sleeves for a moment, but finally, she removed her shirt, leaving her in a tank top. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her arms. Several bruises marred her skin, telling a story of ongoing abuse.

My eyes widened in shock. It’s incomprehensible to me that a father could inflict such brutality on his daughter.

“Jenna…” I whispered; my voice choked with emotion.

“Ugly sight, isn’t it?” She said with a forced grin.

I took her hand in mine, squeezing it gently. “Have you reported this to anyone?”

She shrugged; her expression resigned. “No one cares after my father apologizes. He used to be really sweet, so they just assume it’s my fault.”

I clenched my fist so tightly that I feared a vein might burst. Desperate to regain control of my emotions, I walked to the kitchen and poured her a glass of juice, taking a moment to steady myself.

Returning to the living room, I handed it to her and offered a reassuring smile. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up,” I said, my tone warm and supportive.

I opened the first aid kit and began gathering the necessary supplies. “This might sting a bit,” I warned as I reached for the antiseptic.

She nodded, bracing herself. I worked carefully, rubbing the salve with as much gentleness as I could muster.

“You’re really good at this.”

“I’ve had practice,” I replied. “Mostly with my older sister, Victoria. She was always getting into scrapes. Now, she's following our parents’ path and studying to be a medical doctor. A very fitting trajectory for her actually.”

Jenna smiled slightly. “That’s nice. I guess it’s good to have someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. “And now you’ve got me.”

She looked at me, her eyes softer than before. “Thanks, Dylan. Maybe having a friend wouldn’t be so bad.”

“See? I’m already changing your mind.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she warned, but there was a gentleness to her words.

“There,” I said gently as I finished. “All done.”

“Thank you, Dylan.”

At that moment, the front door swung open, and my mother suddenly walked in. Jenna, alarmed, reached for her shirt, but I gently held her hand.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “My mom doesn’t bite.”

My mother stopped short, clearly surprised to see someone else in the living room with me.

“Dylan? Who is this?” She asked, walking over, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“A friend, Mom.”

When she saw Jenna, recognition flashed in her eyes, followed by an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“Hello, ma’am,” Jenna greeted her, her voice tentative.

My mother responded with a curt nod before turning her attention back to me. “How do you know her?”

“From school, Mom. We’re friends,” I explained, wondering at her coldness. “I wanted to help her.”

Her gaze fell on Jenna’s bruised arms, and for a brief moment, genuine concern crossed her face before being replaced by another emotion I couldn't place. Jenna grabbed her shirt and it hurriedly put it on.

“I was just about to leave.”

As we walk out the front door she said softly, “I don’t think your mom likes me much.”

“That’s not true,” I assured her unconvincingly. “She was just caught off guard seeing a girl in the house.”

Jenna shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I know so,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

But later that night, my mother told me never to bring Jenna back to the house and warned me to stop being friends with her. She never gave a reason; she just insisted that she didn’t like her.

It made me wonder what it was about a fifteen-year-old girl suffering from domestic abuse, which everyone else in town knew about and just turned a blind eye to, that my mother found so objectionable. It seemed deeply unfair and spineless.

That was the first time my mother threatened to send me back to London.

Kim’s laughter cut through my reminiscing, her sweet, innocent sound bringing me back to the present.

"Push me higher, Nana!" Kim squeals, her small hands gripping the ropes tightly.

I lean against the porch railing, the smooth wood cool against my palms, watching my mother gently push Kim on the swing. The old swing set, one of the few relics from my and my sister’s childhood, creaks softly with each movement.

My mother stands behind the swing, her posture straight and dignified, even in this simple act of play. She pushes Kim with a careful, measured rhythm, her hands steady and sure. Each time Kim swings forward, her giggles grow louder, and my mother’s lips curl into a rare, genuine smile. The sight tugs at something deep inside me.

“Higher Nana higher!”

"Hold on tight, sweetheart," my mother replies, her voice soft and filled with affection. She gives the swing a slightly stronger push, and Kim soars higher, her laughter ringing out like a bell.

I can’t help but smile at the scene, despite the heavy thoughts weighing on my mind. My mother has always been a formidable woman, strong-willed, and opinionated. Seeing her in this light, so tender and caring with Kim, reminds me of the rare moments of warmth she showed when I was a child. Moments that seemed to vanish as I grew older, and our relationship became more strained.

Kim’s dark curls bounce with each swing, her eyes bright and filled with pure joy. She kicks her legs out, pretending to touch the sky, and my mother chuckles softly. I love seeing her happy like this.

My thoughts drift back to the conversation we had earlier. My mother’s thinly veiled disdain for Jenna still lingers in my mind, a bitter subject that has always been a reason for the distance between us.

I wonder for the hundredth time what made her dislike Jenna so much, but for now, I push those thoughts aside, focusing on the present.

Kim lets out another delighted squeal as she reaches the peak of her swing, her face lit up with happiness. It’s in these small moments that I catch glimpses of the woman she could be—the mother I wish I’d had more of growing up.

"Uncle Dylan, look how high I'm going!" Kim shouts, her voice full of excitement.

"I see you, Kim. You're flying so high.” I respond, my voice tender and filled with love.

The sun was starting to set as we head back to the car. Kim waves goodbye to my mother, clutching an ice cream cone in her hand. "Bye, Nana!

"Goodbye, sweetheart," she calls back, her eyes lingering on me. "Take care, Dylan. Bring her back tomorrow will you?”

"I will, Mom," I say, starting the car.

My thoughts immediately return to Jenna once again as we head back into town. There are so many complicated feelings between us, and my mother’s dislike of her is just one of puzzle pieces.

Why does my mother hate her so much?