The steady patter of rain tapped against the roof of the sleek black Hyundai Sonata, filling the quiet car with a rhythmic cadence. I sat silently in the passenger seat, my eyes fixed on the droplets racing each other down the windowpane.
"Sorry, Niyah," my mom said, settling into the driver's seat and buckling her seatbelt with a small sigh. "I had to grab my wallet." Her voice was soft, tinged with a mix of apology and distraction.
I rolled my eyes, resting the side of my face against the cool glass. "If it’s just boxes you’re picking up, why do I have to tag along?" I murmured, letting the chill from the air conditioning seep through my shirt, making the car feel more like a mid-winter afternoon than a warm September evening.
She smiled, that subtle curve of her lips that always managed to make me feel a little better. "I might need an extra pair of hands, and honestly, I just like the company." Her eyes flicked briefly to me, filled with a warmth I wasn’t quite ready to match.
The city passed by in a blur—the street signs, the rows of brick houses, the familiar storefronts—all stirring a strange ache in my chest. It was hard to square the knowledge that this was the last time I’d see these streets, my old life packed away like the boxes we were about to buy.
Mom had recently accepted a promotion, an opportunity she couldn’t refuse, which meant uprooting our lives and heading south to South Carolina. I admired her ambition and strength, but leaving felt like losing a part of myself.
When we pulled into the crowded shopping center parking lot, relief swept through me. I was eager to get out of the car and escape the lingering echoes of the past few days. Mom took her time grabbing the bags and setting the alarm, leaving me alone with the steady drone of muted music playing through the speakers.
I slipped into the store ahead of her, weaving through aisles thick with shoppers and bright fluorescent lights. The place buzzed with the low murmur of conversations and the occasional beep of scanners. A young employee stood near the endcap, and I approached him cautiously.
"Excuse me," I asked, voice barely above the noise. "Where can I find boxes and packing supplies?"
He glanced up, blinking as if surprised to be addressed. "Aisle six, right over there," he said, pointing down the crowded corridor.
"Thanks," I replied, motioning for Mom, who finally caught up with me, her arms full of bags.
We navigated the aisle, collecting cardboard boxes, rolls of tape, bubble wrap, and labels. I noticed Mom veering toward another section, a habit I recognized all too well.
"Mom? We really need to finish packing," I said gently, tugging her back toward the checkout.
Her smile softened. "Oh, right. Let’s head out." She matched my pace, her hands laden with supplies.
At the register, a man greeted us with an overly bright, slightly unsettling grin. "How are you two beautiful twins doing this evening?" he said with a wink.
Mom giggled, momentarily flattered, but I just stared, disbelief shooting through me. Twins? That was a stretch, even with the strongest imagination.
It’s true Mom looked stunning for fifty—dark bobbed hair framing her face, glowing honey-brown skin, and eyes that shone with an enduring kindness. I often felt like a mirror image, my seventeen years showing in my taller frame, longer black hair, and hazel eyes that carried traces of my mixed heritage.
The man finished with his flirtation, and we slipped out, boxes and bags in hand, heading back to the car. Outside, the familiar sight of my best friend Jess’s car parked near her house caught my eye.
"Mom, I’m going to see Jess for a minute," I said, eager for a brief connection to the life I was leaving behind.
She frowned, unlocking the trunk. "For what?" she asked, her voice steady but curious.
I smirked, teasing, "So we can go out and get into some trouble—beat up people, sell drugs, the usual." My sarcasm earned a raised eyebrow and a small smile.
"Just don’t be long. We need to keep packing," she said, returning to the car with our purchases.
I jogged over to Jess’s porch, the familiar creak of the wooden steps under my feet stirring memories. Before I could knock, the door burst open.
"Niyah!" Jess exclaimed, throwing her arms around me in a fierce hug.
I laughed, a warmth spreading through me despite the heaviness I’d felt all day. "Hey, yeah?" I said, slightly confused by her excitement.
"I thought you’d already moved! I was this close to smacking you for not saying goodbye," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Why would I do that? You’re my friend," I replied, nudging her shoulder playfully.
Jess and I had been inseparable since elementary school, growing up side by side with laughter and secrets. She stood close to my height, her long brown hair always pulled back into a high ponytail. Her honey-toned skin was flawless, glowing with an easy radiance.
"What are you up to now?" I asked, stepping inside as she flicked the TV on.
"Nothing, just vegging out," she said, lazily spinning the remote in her hands.
"Perfect. Your lazy self can help me pack," I said, grabbing her arm and dragging her out the door with a grin.
---
Dawn crept through the cracks of my curtains like a silent intruder, but it was the pounding on my bedroom door that finally dragged me from sleep.
"Niyah, time to get up! We’ve got a long drive ahead," Mom’s voice called from beyond the wood.
I groaned, pulling the covers tighter over my head, desperate to hold onto the fragments of rest. "Okay, okay, I’m up," I mumbled, though the truth was far from it.
Her footsteps faded down the stairs, and I finally peeled back the blanket, squinting against the harsh sunlight spilling into the room.
My foot landed on something soft and squishy. Glancing down, I spotted one of Drea’s mangled toys on the floor and called out, "Drea!"
In moments, my black lab-pit mix bounded into the room, tail wagging wildly.
"Get your toy," I said, tossing it toward her. She picked it up, happily trotting downstairs.
Those torn, slobbery toys scattered around the house drove me crazy, but Drea was one of the last pieces of my dad I had left. He’d bought her for Mom and me before he passed, and I wasn’t about to let go of that.
Dragging myself to the bathroom, I welcomed the hot rush of the shower, letting the water wash away some of the heaviness clinging to me. Afterward, I pulled on black yoga pants, a loose white V-neck shirt, and slipped into my black-and-white Converse sneakers.
Tossing my long hair into a messy bun, I gathered my remaining bags and headed downstairs.
"I’ll be in the car!" Mom called from the front door.
Grabbing the last of my things, I hurried down the steps and out into the morning air, the scent of damp earth and fresh beginnings filling my lungs.
"Ready? Do you have everything?" Mom asked as she started the car and shifted it into gear.
I nodded, a thousand emotions swirling inside me. The road ahead was uncertain, but for now, I held on to the small moments—the laughter, the goodbyes, the strength of the bonds I wasn’t ready to leave behind.