(86)

                                    

                                          
Life moves at unpredictable speeds. Progress fluctuates. A thousand things can happen in one week, and absolutely nothing can happen over months. 
                          
Change is inconsistently constant. 
                          
Mom tells me it's normal to have changed my mind on what I want so many times in the last few months. Nineteen is the time to stumble, climb, change direction, veer off course and come back again. 
                          
Things are falling into place though. Things are starting to feel right, comfortable, exciting. 
                          
It's strange to think I was absolutely sure I wanted to live in New York and go into clothing with Bernie just a few months ago, and now, I'm standing in mom and dad's kitchen with impending news that takes me in an entirely different direction. 
                          
It's been three weeks since I came home from my first date with Roman. He kissed me goodnight on the doorstep and it was a night more beautiful than I could've imagined. 
                          
"Uh," I say to mom and dad who are sitting at the breakfast bar with their coffee and cream cheese bagels. "I'm moving back to Texas." 
                          
Their heads snap towards me. 
                          
"Like, moving, settling," I confirm. "Because I went to New York after rehab for supervision purposes and I never saw it as a permanent move. I figured I'd go back to california soon enough and then I decided to go back to New York instead. I definitely never thought I would move back to Texas. But this is where I want to be." 
                          
There was nothing but silence for half a second and then dad shouted with such loud excitement, mom and I jumped. 
                          
"Fuck YES," he stood up, his stool sliding backward and crashing against the tiled floor. 
                          
It was less than a second later when I was being crushed by a suffocating hug. His reaction didn't surprise me, dad had wanted me home ever since I left rehab. 
                          
"You ever seen one of those little houses? The tiny but functional ones?" He asks, going for his phone sitting next to mom who can't stop smiling. "I'm getting one. We'll build it out in the back garden. You can decorate it." 
                          
"Unless," mom gives dad a look to suggest he slows down. "Abby wants to move back to Texas and get her own apartment?" 
                          
Dad pauses his pursuit and looks between the two of us. "Oh, of course. Yeah. Your own place, that makes sense. You're an adult. Independent. All of that." 
                          
Mom purses her lips, fighting a smile because we can both see dad is doing his absolute best not to try and persuade my choice in his favour. 
                          
He doesn't have to though. I've thought about all of this while I've been staying in my old bedroom. I spent so many years wishing I didn't have to live at home, and as soon as I could, I left, off to find bigger and better. Part of me wishes I'd soaked up the time I had with mom and dad. It was never going to last long and I didn't realise that soon enough. 
                          
Dad offering me a little house in the back garden was an unexpected bonus though. It'd be nice to have that sense of space without going too far. 
                          
"A little house in the back garden sounds cute," I tell dad, watching his expression light up. "But is that a waste of time? What will you do with it when I do move out, eventually. Because I can't live here forever." 
                          
"It'll be a guest house," mom suggests, pulling her morning bed hair into a bun. 
                          
Dad watches her. "Or we can turn it into a shag shack."