Waking up to the smell of bacon and pancakes reminds me of where I am as I sit in my old room, now lit with the bright morning sun. The Johnathan Taylor Thomas poster is as long gone as that weird dream.

 Why do we grow out of that anyway? It was nice as a teenager to wake up with hot guys winking at me. What if instead of buying silly little wall hangings to accent the space, we kept up with posters? I'd much rather look at McDreamy and McSteamy, or better yet, Jason Momoa with their bare chests and sexy smirks, over some ridiculous, live, laugh, love decal.

A chirping noise pulls me from my thoughts about half-naked men or men I'd like to see half-naked, I guess. I reach over for my phone, sitting on the nightstand to see the man I no longer desire to see at all, naked or otherwise, texting me.

There goes my mood straight down the gutter. I sigh as I pick up the phone to read the text from Julian. 

The furniture didn't even sell for a grand. The appliances are outdated. No one is biting. I told you we needed to upgrade. 

No greeting, no politeness, nothing, just business with us these days and only through text. We can't manage a civil conversation.

If they're so outdated, why'd we pay so damn much for them?

He ignores my snippy response and continues. We need to take my dad's advice. You know what we need to do.

We pay back what we took, I type angrily as irritation clouds my face.

Kinsey, we're never getting out of this hole...

And whose fault is that?

Does that matter? Stop being so stubborn about this, he sends back and then quickly follows it up; you're hurting yourself too.

I ignore that reply as I roll my neck, stretching out the stiffness of my sleep.

Kinsey, please. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can finally move on.

Kinsey...

Come on!

Have a nice day, Julian, I reply and then shut my phone off.

I'm sure he just let out a frustrated scream, which somewhat improves my mood. God, I wish I could go back five years, change things, tear up the credit cards, hide 'em, or something...

But I didn't, and he kept spending and spending, and now... he's right, we're never getting out of this hole. I just... I'm not ready to accept it yet. We let our marriage die; we racked up enough debt to where the bank I worked for had to let me go, conflict of interest, they said. My car was repossessed, and then we lost our house. Filing bankruptcy feels like the final nail in the coffin of how bad I failed at life.

I can't do it yet. I need more time.

**

I take my time in the shower, trying to wash off my bad mood from that text exchange. Mama made sure my bathroom was stocked with all the essentials. I am so grateful that I have her and my dad. Julian's parents were very harsh, to put it mildly, his mother especially. Mine never once showed an iota of judgment. When I broke the news to them, they asked if I was okay, then they told me to come home.

I step across my soft carpeted floor to my closet and find an old white linen dress that I used to love. I slip it on, and not only does it still fit, but it's actually a little loose. The fabric feels amazing against my freshly scrubbed skin. It's a spaghetti strap top with a few decorative buttons; it shows off a little of my modest cleavage. The dress falls to my ankle but has a slit up the side to my thigh. It has a flowy and casual look to it.

I leave my honey blonde hair down to airdry and don't bother with makeup, it's going to be hot today, so it'll all just sweat off anyway. I still have a youthful look despite the stress, many mistaking me for younger then thirty-three. After years of insecurity, I finally started seeing myself with some confidence in my early twenties. I'm not gorgeous or anything, but with my heart shaped face, soft amber eyes and full lips, I can turn some heads. 

I step downstairs, rolling my eyes at the cat toy I'd flipped out about the night before. The stairs lead down to a small entry and the front door, and an archway on the either side leads to either the cozy living room or the kitchen. I head left into the sizable kitchen, It's as warm and welcoming l as always, with its forest green-painted cabinets against knotty pine walls. 

Our kitchen table, a big round, beautifully hand-crafted oak table that had been in the Abbot family for generations, greets me topped with a bountiful feast of homecooked food, coffee, rolls, and freshly squeezed juice. It's a welcoming site after a month of me alone with an oversized cold island topped with takeout boxes, wine, and little else.

The one thing everyone forgets about when they insist on having a big shiny white island is how cold and sterile it is in hindsight. This big table with its loved-up scratches and old stains that never came out from years of use, on the other hand, is full of memories; that's part of what makes a house a home.

Dad is already perched at the table, looking at the newspaper. Mama is still fluttering about but looks close to finally sitting.

"Sit." Mama pulls out my chair as she fills our coffee cups and then sits, and I plop down to join her as my mouth waters.

Breakfast is as amazing as it smells. My mama makes these sourdough honey pancakes that are like clouds of fluffy, delicious heaven. She tops them with a dollop of butter she gets from Harrison's dairy farm and smothers them with her homemade maple syrup. They are incredible and even better with the thick peppered bacon, and runny eggs she made to go with them. 

 So damn good I'm devouring breakfast, the world is forgotten. It's just me and this plate right now, cue the romantic music.

"Hungry, Kinsey Girl?" I look up to see Dad watching me and looking amused, whereas Mama seems pleased.

"This beats my usual cold slice of pizza."

There's this strange regression after a divorce, at least for me. I reverted right back to being a college student, both with eating and drinking habits. I'm slowly pulling myself out of that, I guess. Well, saying I am anyway.

"You're too skinny," Mama says worriedly. "You forget to eat when you get stressed. You can't be doing that, Sweetie. It's not good for you."

"Don't worry, Mama," I say assuredly. "I'm sure you'll fatten me up in no time."

"Oh, I plan on it," she agrees, and my dad chuckles. "Speaking of, I'll be baking today. Hunter's son is coming today after school. Would you like to help? I was thinking of making snickerdoodles, he loves those, but I could do cutouts; so, he can decorate them. Oh, and he also loves chocolate, so maybe some fudge brownies too."

"Mama, he's just one little boy!" I laugh out loud. "And I would, but I think I'm going to head into town this afternoon. Mind if I borrow your van?"

"Not at all, but what for? I made sure you had everything you need to get started here."

"You did that and then some," I assure her, gently patting her hand. "I have an errand to run, and I want to get an idea of who is hiring. The sooner I get back to work, the better."

"Kinsey, there is no rush," Dad says firmly.

"That's right; you take time to settle in first." Mama says as she passes me the juice. 

"The banks don't share your, take your time, mentality." I joke, but Dad's face tenses, and I regret the quip. He feels bad that he can't help me out of my financial mess. I wish he'd accept that taking me in is helpful enough.

"Honest, I know it's no rush, but it doesn't hurt to pop into town and just see," I add quickly, and he relaxes some.

 I get up and clear the table bringing the dishes over to the old farmhouse sink that Mama already has full of soapy water. As I grab the washcloth from Mama, I submerge the syrupy plates into the hot water for a soak.

 "You want to walk the trees with your old man first?"

"Love too." I agree. "Mama, go sit. You cooked I'll clean."

"Oh, I don't mind, many hands and all that." She picks up the butter and salt from the table.

"Mama." I give her a stern look, and she begrudgingly does as I ask, after she clears one more thing off the table, of course. 

**

We drive the tractor up to the orchard and park alongside it. This early in the year, the trees are all greening up nicely. Dad and I step along the path as we walk; the trees in the first section are the oldest, biggest, and strongest. They are a combination of Granny Smith and Red Delicious, and they are starting to flower early this year. These are the most popular of all our apples, most people that come for picking season don't get much farther than this section.

These aren't my favorite apples, but I love the trees in this section because they are so old. If they could talk, I like to imagine the stories they'd tell. We used to come up with those stories, Olly and I, but those days are long gone, another memory that should be sweet now bittersweet instead.

I kick off my shoes and spin around between the trees, feeling a sense of calm come over me as I take in nature.

"You gonna start hugging the trees?" My dad breaks the spell with a chuckle, and I laugh despite it all.

I run over to one and give it a hug for old times' sake, causing my old man's laughter to grow. 

"It's so good to be home, Dad."

"Real good to have you home, Honey." He ruffles my hair as we start walking again. The next section is a bunch of Mcintosh Apple trees. They haven't even begun to bud yet, but they are green and have grown a ton since last year. Mama makes apple butter from these apples and sells it over the fall.

"You and Mama are making this so easy. I don't know how to thank you."  

"No need to thank us Kinz, this is always your home."

"Are people in town going to be... You know. About it all?" Sweet Haven is a small town after all, but for the most part, people are polite here.

"If they do, they'll answer to me! Ain't got nothing to be ashamed about. You did the right thing, getting out of it."

"I know that much." We walk further along and reach the last section, a combination of Pink Lady and my favorite, Honey Crisp trees gather in this area, all different sizes. There are also a few huge maple trees; one still has an old tire swing hanging on a rope. "It's more so; I feel like I failed 'you know? The marriage, the house the job, all of it. It's all gone."

"The thing about life is, it's all trial and error," My dad says softly as he plucks a cigar from his front pocket and lights it up. "All we can do is hope for the best, and when we fall on our ass, we get up, learn the lesson and go on with it."

"That's good advice, Dad." I sigh softly as my eyes gaze off the tiny buds on the trees. "So, what's the lesson?"

"I'm sure there's a lot of them."

"That's a copout answer." I playfully nudge him as we turn to start heading back.

"I ain't the one that needs to answer that question."

"Yeah... I know," I mumble. "I have a lot to think about, but- what it all comes down to is, I let it die. I ignored the signs, I let us fade further and further apart. I didn't speak up. I stopped trying... is that the lesson?"

"Do you think it is?"

"Damn It, Dad, since when are you a therapist?" I chuckle lowly. "Just tell me what you think. Do you think it's my fault for giving up?"

"I think it takes two people to try, and all those I's, were just you; what was Julian doing to fight for y'all?"

"Not a damn thing."

"There you go," Dad says. "The lesson, Kinsey Girl, is for the right one; you'll fight, and so will they, because it'll be worth fighting for."

I let his words settle in as we walk through the orchard. 

Thanks for reading, everyone! Your comments have been so uplifting and I'm so amped to keep telling this story! I have the next couple chaps planned out so hoping to update again soon! 

Who did you have a poster of on your wall as a teen? 

Who would you want on your wall now if that was still a thing? 😂