As I enter the kitchen, I see my grandmother standing by the stove, dishing out a plate of pasta. The smell of tomatoes and oregano fills the room, stirring my appetite.I force a smile.
"That smells delicious," I say, taking a seat at the table.
My grandmother beams at the compliment. She sets the plate of pasta in front of me.
"I made your favorite," she says, her eyes twinkling.
I pick up my fork, twirling some noodles around it. The food looks tempting, but my mind is elsewhere. The memories from my room keep poking through my defenses, like thorns through a sweater.I start eating, forcing myself to chew and swallow. The pasta tastes good, but I barely register it.
My grandmother chats on, recounting some anecdotes from her day. I nod and hum in response, trying to pay attention, but my mind keeps drifting off.
The memories from my past, the ones I've been running from for years, feel more potent now, like a storm gathering on the horizon.My grandmother is still talking, her voice washing over me like static. I picked up a few words here and there - a story about a neighbor's new car, a friend's recent visit, something about the weather.
But in my head, a different story is playing. A story about a boy with tousled hair and a crooked smile, about laughter and heartbreak, love and loss.
The memories come rushing back, each one more vivid than the last. I can almost feel his presence, smell his leather jacket, and hear his soft voice in my ear. I can almost feel his touch, the way his fingers would brush against mine, sending shivers up my spine.
My heart clenches, the ache suddenly too much to bear.
I push the pasta around my plate, the food no longer appetizing.I can tell my grandmother notices my changed mood. Her voice falters, her chatter dies down, replaced by a look of concern.
"Hazel, dear," she begins, her tone gentle.
"Is everything alright? You've hardly touched your food."
I force a smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside me. "I'm just a bit tired, grandma," I lie. "Travel and everything..."
She eyes me carefully, not fully buying my excuse.
"Are you sure, dear?" she presses, her voice quiet.
I nod, avoiding her gaze.
"Yes, really," I reply, my voice as firm as I can manage.
"I'm just tired, that's all."
My grandmother doesn't push further, though I can tell she's not convinced. She simply nods and continues eating, her eyes occasionally flickering towards me, full of worry.
As the silence stretches out, my grandmother decides to change the subject.
"You know," she begins, her voice hesitant. "Bella asked about you the other day."
As soon as she mentions Bella's name, my mood lifts slightly. Bella, my best friend since childhood, always brings a smile to my face.I looked up at my grandmother, curiosity piqued.
"She did?"
My grandmother nods, her eyes shining with nostalgia. "She did," she confirms, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "She asked how you were doing. You know, she really misses you, dear."
A pang of guilt hits my chest. I've been so caught up in my own world, I've neglected my friends, especially Bella. "I miss her too," I murmured, a lump forming in my throat.
My grandmother gives me a sympathetic look. "It wouldn't hurt to reach out," she says gently.
"I'm sure Bella would love to hear from you."
I know my grandmother is right. I miss Bella, her laugh, her stories, her enthusiasm. The thought of hearing her voice again warms me inside.
"You're right," I say, resolve to strengthen my voice. "I'll call her tomorrow."
My grandmother gives me a proud smile. "That's the spirit, dear," she says, patting my hand. "You know, your friends back home miss you too. You should try and keep in touch with them more."
My stomach twists with guilt. I've been so wrapped up in my own problems, I've neglected my friends back home. I barely keep in touch with any of them.
"You're right, grandma," I admit, a hint of shame in my voice. "I've been a terrible friend."
My grandmother shakes her head. "Now, don't be too hard on yourself, dear," she chides. "You've been going through a lot. It's natural to withdraw when you're hurting. But your friends are worried about you. And they love you dearly."
Her words strike a chord deep inside me. I've been so focused on trying to forget my past that I've been shutting out everyone who cares about me. My friends, my family... even Grammy.
A wave of regret crashes over me. "I know," I say at last, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll make more of an effort, I promise."
The decision lifts a weight off my shoulders. I nod firmly.
"Tomorrow," I say, determination in my voice.
"I'll call Bella in the morning. And I'll have breakfast with you, grandma." I said.