Freyja ran home after our kiss.


    She told herself that homosexuality was a sin and this couldn’t happen. I asked to see her the next morning so we could talk about us. She texted me that she needed a day or two to gather her thoughts before she could.


    I never saw her again.


    She came down with the flu. She said it was the punishment for running through the rain that night. I tried to joke and say God punished her for letting me kiss her, but she didn’t find that funny.


    I never saw Freyja again.


    -


    “Hey honey, you never call. Did something come up?”


    “Mom, it’s been three days, you haven’t called.”


    “Oh I’m sorry, things have been so busy the past few days. How are things, Elizabeth? Are you still feeling down?””


    I faked a burst of laughter, “It’s okay, I can take care of myself.”


    “That’s good to hear. Hey listen, It’s still going to be a week before we come home, how are you on food and money?”The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    “Fine, I have more than enough,” I lied. I ran out of money weeks ago and out of food a couple of days ago. “So you’re coming back next Wednesday then?”


    “Yeah. You should have come with us. It’s lovely here. Maybe next summer.”


    “Yeah, maybe next summer,” I frowned.


    “Are you sure everything is alright? You don’t sound well. If you’re getting sick you can go to the clinic. I keep your insurance card in my folders above the closet.”


    “I’m not getting sick.”


    “Then why do you sound so awful? You never call first. What happened?”


    “Nothing…Nothing! I’m fine. I’m fine. I am.”


    “Are you sure?”


    “Yeah…”


    “Okay…listen I gotta go. Clint is waiting for me. Call me again if you need anything.”


    “Hey, mom?” I paused.


    I thought about all the fights I had over the years with this woman. She is irritating and stubborn. I remembered every little bit that I disliked about her. She’s materialistic, self-centered, and vain. My mother is in every way who I am but only 20 years older. She’s in every little bit and piece of the same mess as I am.


    Still, she’s my mother. She’s a good one. She cares. My mom always tried her hardest to make me happy. I knew that deep down inside she loved me. I loved her too. I remember how hard she tried to cheer me up after her divorce. I remember all of the lies she told me. She just wanted to protect me from getting hurt by the truth. Turned out she was right, all along. I remember that she wouldn’t leave my side whenever I had a nightmare and was too afraid to go to sleep.


    She did what my dad did after he left.


    “Yeah?”


    Which is why I tried so hard not to cry when I told her, “I love you.” But I failed.


    They were silent.


    “I love you too, Elizabeth. Have a great week at school.”


    Hearing those words shouldn''t have hurt as much as they did.