Caught Between My Ex And The Turner Twins

6

"Stella!" My mother called my name as she entered my room and saw me sleeping. She couldn't believe that I was back home since I didn't inform her I was coming and I had just snuck inside my room the previous night undetected.

"What are you doing here?"

I groaned, burrowing deeper into the quilt my grandmother had made, the one that still smelled faintly of lavender and childhood summers. The morning sun filtered through the gingham curtains, painting patterns on the worn hardwood floor. For a moment, I could almost believe I was sixteen again, home for summer break, with nothing more pressing on my mind than which bike trail to explore or which book to read under the old oak tree.

But my mother's voice, a mixture of surprise and concern, shattered that illusion. "Stella Ricci, I'm talking to you. What on earth are you doing here? And why didn't you tell us you were coming?"

I rolled over, my eyes adjusting to the light. My mother stood at the foot of my bed, her hands on her hips, her graying hair escaping its usual neat bun. She looked older than I remembered, the lines around her eyes deeper, but her gaze was as sharp as ever.

"Hi, Mom," I mumbled, pushing myself up. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I just... I needed to come home."

Her expression softened, the way it always did when she sensed one of her children was in distress. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. "Honey, what's wrong? You look exhausted. And shouldn't you be at work? It's Wednesday, for goodness' sake."

I took a deep breath, the words I'd been dreading to say finally tumbling out. "I quit my job, Mom. I left Omni-Tech."

Her eyes widened. "You what? But Stella, you loved that job. You were doing so well. The last time we spoke, you were excited about some big project...wasn't it?"

"Yeah," I echoed, tasting bitter on my tongue. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching the cool floor. "Things... changed. It got complicated."

Mom's eyes narrowed. She had always been able to read me, to see past my defenses. "Complicated how? Did something happen with your boss? Did they pass you over for a promotion?"

I let out a humorless laugh. If only it were that simple. "No, nothing like that. It's... it's personal, Mom. I got involved with some people at work, and it didn't end well. The rumors started, and I just couldn't stay there anymore."

"Oh, Stella," she sighed, her tone a mixture of disappointment and sympathy. "Not Sam again? I thought you were done with that mess."

"Sam was part of it," I admitted, the shame of it all washing over me anew. "But there were others. The Turner twins, Tom and Lucas. We... we had a thing. And it blew up in my face."

Mom was quiet for a long moment. I braced myself for the lecture, the disapproval. But when she spoke, her voice was gentle. "You know, when your father and I got married, everyone said it wouldn't last. A farmer's son and a city girl with big dreams. They said we were too different, that one of us would stray."

I looked up at her, surprised. My parents' marriage had always seemed rock-solid to me. "What happened?"

"We chose each other, every day," she said simply. "Even when it was hard, even when the farm was struggling or when I got that job offer in Chicago. We decided that what we had was worth more than any temptation."

Her words hit me hard. I thought about Sam, about how we'd let our past poison our present. About Tom and Lucas, and how their seduction had been a game, a distraction from the emptiness of their own relationship. We'd all chosen the easy path, the thrill of the forbidden, over the harder work of real connection.

"I messed up, Mom," I whispered, tears welling up. "I let myself get caught up in it all, and I lost sight of who I am."

Mom pulled me into her arms, her embrace as comforting as it had been when I was a child with scraped knees. "You made mistakes, sweetheart. We all do. The question is, what are you going to do now?"

I pulled back, wiping my eyes. "That's why I'm here. I need to figure that out. I need some time, some peace. Can I just... can I just stay here for a while? Without having to explain or defend myself to anyone?"

She cupped my face, her calloused hands a testament to years of hard work and resilience. "Of course you can. This is your home, Stella. It always will be. You take all the time you need."

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. My father appeared in the doorway, his weathered face registering shock as he saw me. "Stella? What in tarnation are you doing here?"

"Hi, Dad," I said weakly.

He stepped into the room, his tall frame filling the space. Despite his gruff exterior, I saw the concern in his blue eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be in the city?"

Mom answered for me, her hand finding his. "Stella needs some time at home, honey. She's had a rough go of it in the city."

Dad's brow furrowed. He wasn't a man of many words, but when he spoke, it mattered. "What happened, pumpkin? Someone hurt you?"

The childhood nickname almost undid me. I shook my head. "No, Dad. I... I hurt myself. I made some bad choices at work. Got involved with people I shouldn't have."

I expected judgment from him. Dad had always been old-fashioned, big on integrity and doing things the right way. But instead, he sighed heavily and sat down on my old desk chair. "You remember old Jack Wilkins' farm, down by the creek?"

I nodded, confused by the non sequitur. Jack had been our neighbor, his cornfields stretching as far as the eye could see.

"Few years back, Jack decided to plant soybeans instead of corn. Said the market was better," Dad continued. "But he didn't know the first thing about soybeans. Didn't prepare the soil right, didn't account for the different pests. By harvest time, his whole crop was ruined."

Mom and I exchanged a glance. Dad's stories always had a point, but he took his time getting there.

"Next spring, you know what Jack did?" Dad asked, leaning forward. "He went right back to corn. Said he'd rather stick with what he knew than chase after some quick profit. And you know what? His corn that year was the best he'd ever grown."

I felt a lump in my throat. "So, you're saying I should... go back to what I know? Back to marketing?"

Dad shook his head. "I'm saying, pumpkin, that just because you planted the wrong crop this time doesn't mean you can't have a hell of a harvest next season. You're smart, Stella. Smartest of all my kids. You'll figure out what you need to grow."

His words, rough but sincere, pierced through my self-doubt. I looked at my parents - my mother, with her unwavering support, and my father, with his quiet wisdom - and felt a surge of gratitude.

"Thanks, Dad," I whispered. "I think I need some time to... to prepare my soil. To figure out what I want to grow next."

He nodded, rising from the chair. "You do that. And while you're figuring it out, there's plenty of work to be done around here. Tractor's acting up again, and your mother's been talking about updating the farm's website. Reckon a big-city marketer like you could help out?"

I smiled, the first real smile in what felt like ages. "Yeah, Dad. I think I can manage that."

Mom stood up, squeezing my shoulder. "I'll make you some breakfast. Pancakes sound good?"

"That sounds perfect," I said.

As they left the room, I heard Mom whisper to Dad, "She'll be alright, won't she?"

"'Course she will," Dad replied gruffly. "She's a Ricci. We don't stay down for long."

Alone in my childhood room, surrounded by relics of a simpler time.

I lay back on my bed, the quilt a comforting weight. In the distance, I heard the clatter of pans as Mom made pancakes, the rumble of the tractor as Dad tinkered. The sounds of home, of a life uncluttered by office politics and illicit affairs.

For the first time in weeks, I felt my muscles relax, my mind quieting. Here, I didn't have to be the brilliant marketer or the scandalous ex-employee. I could just be Stella, finding her way back to solid ground. And in this quiet, in this peace, I knew that whatever I chose to grow next would be stronger, truer, and entirely my own.