I had no idea why, but at that moment, my thoughts settled on my mom.
...well, my six-year-old boy understanding of her, anyway.
She’d be proud of me.
There were only a few memories left in my mind about her - they were all the same, playing in loops around my mind whenever I needed her.
Me, Billy, her and the twins at a summer festival.
Her zipping me into layers and layers of clothing, then into a massive thermal suit on the first winter's snow storm, me just itching to head outside.
Her mutton stew and fry bread.
Her shower of kisses on my face. I'd reluctantly accepted them, later wiping them off in the presence of Embry and Quil. I mean, I was a man.
Mostly though, I remembered my mom’s smile, one that I’ve been told time and time again mirrors my own almost exactly. I like to think that every time I smile, I’m participating in my own little one-man memorial for her.
Those days were some of my best memories of her, though nothing life-changing happened, really. I’m still not really sure of all the specifics, blame it on time and my age then, but I am positive of how I felt; how she made me feel, and it was pure love and adoration.
The stretching road ahead and the overcast sky beckoned me to my new home. Glancing to the right of me - the halo of perfectly messy auburn curls blowing wildly in the wind, the small dimple dotting her left cheek, the tilt of her head as she looked out the passenger window deep in thought - my love for Ness actually intensified, if that’s possible. My heart was so full at the thought she would be taking this journey with me, right there beside me.
More than that though, a pensive smile played at my lips and a realization settled in.
I was happy. KEEP READING
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