Falling For Us Again

23. MRS. ANDERSON

Chapter 23

MRS. ANDERSON

Jenna

The Town festival is in full swing by the time I arrive.

The sweet, sticky smell of cotton candy and kettle corn drifts through the air, mixing with the sharp tang of roasted peanuts. People crowd around the booths, their faces flushed with excitement.

I take in the sounds, laughter, shouting, the thud of footsteps over worn cobblestone streets.

Lola and Paul are a few steps ahead, already caught up in the whirlwind of colors and sounds. Lola’s curly red hair gleams in the sunlight as she leans into Paul, laughing at one of his jokes.

I smile. They've gotten closer in the past week, and Paul has extended his stay in town by another week, because of her, I’m sure.

I’ve always loved the magical feel of the festival. Like something from a dream that you half-remember when you wake up. When I was young, the town festival was the highlight of the summer.

My feet move across the uneven grounds, the crushed grass and dirt giving way beneath each step, and I can almost pretend that I’m that girl again—the one who didn’t have a care in the world, who was adored by her mother and her father, whose biggest worry was whether she’d win a stuffed animal at one of the game booths.

But I’m not that girl anymore. Life has seen to that. I trail behind my friends, my hands stuffed into my pockets, trying to ignore the feeling of emptiness rearing its ugly head in my chest.

Still, there’s something about the atmosphere that tugs at my heartstrings. The sound of children’s laughter fill the air, blending with the lively music coming from the main stage, where a local band is playing a mix of country and rock.

Then I hear a small, excited voice.

“Jenna! Jenna!”

I turn, my heart lifting just slightly, and I see Kim running toward me, her dark curls bouncing as she weaves through the crowd.

Her grin is wide, and her tiny hands are outstretched like she’s ready to take on the world, or at least me. I can’t help but smile—the first real one I’ve felt in days.

“Kim,” I smile at her, bending down to her level as she barrels into me with a force that’s impressive for someone so small. She hugs me tightly, her face beaming up at me.

“You’re here!” She says, breathless, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Yes, I am,” I say, my voice lighter than I feel. I brush a stray curl out of her face. “How are you doing? Are you having fun?”

She nods furiously, then grabs my hand with an enthusiasm I can’t quite match.

“Who are you with?” I look around for Maggie. “You can't be roaming around alone.”

“I’m with my uncle, Dylan.”

My heart skips a beat at the mention of his name.

“Oh.”

“He says he knows you.” She smiles even more broadly now. “You have to come with me. I want to show you to my uncle Dylan.”

“Wait, Kim—”

“No, you have to see him! He’s right over here!” she says, her voice filled with the kind of urgency that only a six-year-old can muster as she tugs me through the crowd.

I glance back at Lola and Paul, who wave me off with a smile, like they know exactly where this is heading.

I stumble after her, trying to keep up as she darts through the throng of festival goers, her laughter ringing out.

“Kim, slow down!” I call out, laughing despite myself. “I’m not as fast as you!”

But she doesn’t slow down, her excitement propelling her forward like a rocket. We pass by booths filled with games and prizes, the sound of popping balloons and clinking bottles filling the air.

The smell of cotton candy and funnel cakes wafts past us, making my mouth water, but Kim is on a mission, and there’s no stopping her now.

She comes to a sudden stop, almost causing me to crash into her, and I look around, trying to catch my breath.

And then I see him.

Dylan is standing by a booth, his back to us, holding a bouquet of wildflowers he picked out from a vendor and laughing at what the person is saying. My heart stutters for a moment, my feet slowing before Kim pulls me forward again.

“There he is!” she announces proudly, as if she’s accomplished some great feat by reuniting us.

Dylan turns at the sound of her voice, and our eyes meet.

For a split second, everything around us blurs—the noise, the lights, the people. It’s just him, standing there, awkward and unsure, and me, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in my chest.

“Uncle Dylan, you know Jenna, right?”

“Right.”

He smiles at her, but when he looks at me, there's no smile in his eyes.

“You should give Jenna the flowers uncle Dylan,” Kim urges.

Dylan frowns. “I picked out the flowers for you.”

“But I want you to give it to her.” She pouts.

Our gazes meet, the memory of last Saturday at the reunion replaying in my mind, and I know that he's thinking the same.

“Well then, Jenna,” he says softly, his voice barely carrying over the noise of the crowd. He looks at the flowers in his hand, then holds them out to me, a blank look on his face. “These are, uh, for you.”

I reach out and take the bouquet from him, my fingers brushing against his as I do. The touch is electric, sending a spark of awareness through my entire body, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

The stems are cool and damp in my hands. The flowers are simple—daisies, wild violets, a few sprigs of lavender—but there’s something about Kim’s innocent matchmaking gesture that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Kim sees a friend and runs to meet her, leaving both of us standing there awkwardly.

“You told me you didn’t want to see me again, yet here you are.” His voice is cold.

“I’m only here because of Kim.”

“Right.”

“I should go.” I push the bouquet back into his hands, but he stops me.

His touch makes me glance up, and we stare at each other, a flurry of emotions flying between us.

Before we can say a word, Kim returns, tugging on his sleeve. “I want ice cream!” she declares, her voice cutting through the tension that neither of us knows how to handle. “Uncle Dylan, you promised you’d get me some ice cream.”

Dylan glances at me, then back at Kim, clearly grateful for the distraction.

“Come on then, let’s go get some.”

Kim slips her hand into mine, looking at me with beautiful, large green eyes. “Jenna, you're coming with us, right?”

For a moment, I’m tempted to say no, to make up some excuse about needing to do something else. But then I look at Kim, her eyes shining with excitement, and I can’t bring myself to disappoint her.

“Sure,” I say, the word slipping out before I can second-guess myself.

Kim practically jumps for joy, grabbing both our hands, leading us to the ice cream stand.

As we walk, I steal glances at Dylan, at the way the sunlight catches in his hair, at the way his smile reaches his eyes when he looks at Kim. It is so different from the expression on his face when he looks at me.

There's a coldness to him now, but I can't blame him. I owe him an apology for slapping him.

Out of everyone, I should know and do better.

Lola had mentioned a few days later that Maggie told her that she and Dylan were not together, and it was just a spur-of-the-moment kiss.

I believe her, but I also know that she has feelings for Dylan. A woman knows these things, and to be honest, I can’t blame her. Maybe I overreacted that night, but I was out of my mind with jealousy, and afraid that he was sleeping with me just to get back at me. Every feeling I have for Dylan is so convoluted.

We reach the ice cream stand, and Kim immediately launches into a list of all the flavors she wants to try.

Dylan listens patiently, nodding along as she rattles off her choices, and it warms my heart at the sight of them together.

“I’ll be right back,” he says when Kim is done. “What about you, Jenna? Strawberry and vanilla as always?”

“Beauty in simplicity.”

He gives me one last lingering look before turning to the man behind the counter. I take a few steps away from the stand, watching Kim play with her friends.

She's so young and carefree, and a rush of protectiveness overwhelms me. I hope she remains this happy and carefree forever.

Suddenly, I feel a chill creep up my spine—a sensation that’s as familiar as it is unwelcome. And then, I see her.

Dylan’s mother.

She’s standing near one of the booths, talking to a vendor, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. The moment she sees me, something shifts in her gaze, a flicker of recognition followed by that familiar disgust.

It hits me like a punch to the gut, as it always does. No matter how many years pass, no matter how many times I tell myself that I don’t care, that her opinion doesn’t matter, it still makes me feel slightly queasy.

I’ve never understood why she hates me so much. She was always polite enough in front of others, but the undercurrent of disapproval was there from the beginning, lurking beneath every carefully chosen word and every tight-lipped smile, making it clear that I was never good enough.

Not for her dear son, not for this town, not for anything.

And now, standing here, holding this bouquet of flowers that I didn’t ask for, I feel that old ache rising up again. The hurt, the confusion, the frustration of never being enough.

I want to turn around, to run away, to escape before she has the chance to say anything, but it’s too late.

She’s already making her way toward me, her steps slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable.

“Jenna,” she says, her voice as sharp as I remember, cutting through the noise of the festival like a blade. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I swallow hard, the taste of bitterness lingering on my tongue. “Yeah, well, here I am,” I say, forcing the words out, unable to even force myself to follow it with a tight smile. “It’s been a long time, Mrs. Anderson.”

She tilts her head slightly, studying me with that same calculating gaze that used to make me feel so small, like a pest she couldn't get rid of. “Yes, it has. And yet, here you are. Back in Hartlow.”

There’s an edge to her words, a subtle accusation that makes my pulse quicken. I want to tell her that I didn’t come back for Dylan, but I refuse to give her the dignity.

“I’m just here for the festival,” I say instead, my voice sounding hollow even to my ears. “That’s all.”

Dylan’s mother doesn’t respond right away, but the silence between us speaks volumes. I can feel her judgment in the way her eyes sweep over me, assessing and measuring.

It’s always been like this with her, as if she’s waiting for me to slip up, to give her a reason to confirm whatever terrible conclusions she’s already drawn about me.

Maybe I should say something, stand up for myself, and finally demand an answer to the question that’s haunted me for years. Why? Why does she hate me?

What did I ever do to make her look at me with such contempt? But the words stick in my throat. I don’t know how to start a fight I’m not sure I can win.

I refuse to let her see how much she still affects me. I refuse to let her have that power over me anymore. I glance to the counter; Dylan’s still there, oblivious to the tension unfolding, his focus entirely on Kim as he hands her a cone piled high with scoops of colorful ice cream.

I take out a packet of chips from my bag and begin to eat, dismissing her before she gets a chance to dismiss me.

“I see,” she finally says, her tone cool. “Well, enjoy the festival. I’m sure you’ll find it quite... charming.”

There’s something in the way she says the word that makes my skin crawl, like there’s a hidden meaning that I’m not quite grasping.

Before I can figure it out, Dylan walks over to us, and I take some steps back, removing myself from the situation, not wanting to listen to anything else she has to say.

I might never know why she hates me, and I’m going to have to be okay with that.