Somewhere Between Here And Home

THE DECISION

For the next few days, the photograph stayed inside my notebook. I didn't look at it often. I didn't need to. I already knew what it showed. Mum standing outside a house in New Zealand, smiling at the camera as though she had been waiting for me to see it. Behind her was a garden, a wooden fence, and a tree that looked like it had been there forever.

And underneath the photograph, in her handwriting:

There's a room waiting for you.

I kept thinking about that sentence.

Not because I was suddenly certain I wanted to leave, but because it made everything feel more real. Before that, New Zealand had been a possibility. Something Mum talked about over the phone. Somewhere I could go if I decided to.

Now there was a room.

A room I could actually walk into.

I wasn't sure what scared me more—the idea of going or the possibility that I might actually like it.

By Saturday morning, I'd spent enough time thinking about it that I finally went downstairs.

Dad was outside washing the car. The sound of water against the driveway carried through the open back door.

I stood there for a moment before stepping outside.

“You missed a spot.”

Dad looked over his shoulder.

“Good morning to you too.”

I pointed toward the side of the car.

“Right there.”

He glanced at it.

“There is nothing there.”

“Exactly. I was just teasing you.”

He shook his head and went back to washing the car.

I sat on the edge of the driveway, watching him. For a while, neither of us said anything. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Dad and I had always been good at those.

Eventually, I spoke.

“Do you remember when Mum left?”

His hands slowed around the hose.

“Yeah.”

“What was it like?”

He turned the water off and looked at me.

“That was a long time ago.”

“I know.”

He leaned against the car.

“Why are you asking?”

I shrugged.

“I don't know. I guess I've been thinking about it.”

Dad nodded.

I looked down at my hands.

“Did you think she'd come back?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“For a while..”

“And then?”

“Then we both realized things had changed.”

There was no anger in his voice.

That surprised me.

“You don't hate her?”

“No.”

“Does she hate you?”

He gave a small smile.

“I don't think either of us hates the other.” Dad reassured

I looked toward the street.

“Then why couldn't you just...”

I stopped.

Dad understood anyway.

“Get back together?”

I nodded.

He took a breath before answering.

“Because sometimes people can care about each other and still know they shouldn't be together.”

I didn't say anything.

“I think that's something you'll understand better when you're older.”

“That's a very annoying answer.”

He smiled.

“I know.”

For a moment, I watched a car pass at the end of the street.

Then I asked, “Do you think Mum is happy?”

“I think she is.”

“With me not being there?”

Dad looked at me.

“She misses you.”

I swallowed.

“But she's happy?”

“I think she can be both.”

I looked down.

That was probably the hardest thing about all of this. Everyone seemed capable of having two feelings at once, while I kept trying to decide which one I was supposed to have.

Dad sat down beside me.

“You don't have to fix what happened between your mum and me.”

“I know.”

“You don't have to choose one of us.”

“I know.”

“And you don't have to stay here because you think I'll be lonely.”

I looked at him.

“Are you going to be?”

He smiled.

“I'll miss you.”

“That wasn't what I asked.”

“I know.”

I laughed quietly.

He nudged my shoulder with his.

“I'll be fine.”

I looked toward the house.

Claire's car was parked outside.

I hadn't noticed it before.

“She'll be leaving later,” Dad said.

I nodded.

Then, before I could think too much about it, I asked,

“Do you really want to marry her?”

Dad looked at me.

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation.

The answer was simple.

I nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

He studied my face.

“You don't have to say you're okay with it if you're not.”

“I know.”

“I just want you to be honest with me.”

I looked down at the concrete.

“I don't hate her.”

“I know.”

“I just don't know how I'm supposed to feel about all of this.”

“You don't have to know.”

I took a breath.

For days, I'd been trying to find the right answer. Something that would make everyone happy. Something that wouldn't hurt Dad, wouldn't disappoint Mum, and wouldn't make me feel like I was abandoning the life I'd grown up with.

But maybe there wasn't a perfect answer.

Maybe I just had to choose the one I wanted.

I looked at Dad.

“I want to go.”

He went quiet.

I swallowed.

“I want to go to New Zealand.”

For a moment, he didn't say anything.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

I stared at him.

“That's it?”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don't know. Something dramatic.”

He laughed.

“I'll save the dramatic part for the airport.”

I smiled, but my eyes were starting to sting.

“I don't want you to be sad.”

“I will be.”

I looked away.

“But I'll still be happy for you,” he added.

That made it worse.

I leaned against his shoulder, and he rested his head lightly against mine.

For a while, we stayed there without saying anything.

It didn't feel like goodbye.

Not yet.

But it felt like the beginning of one.

That night, I went upstairs and opened my wardrobe. I pulled my suitcase from the back and placed it on the floor. For a few seconds, I just stared at it. Then I opened it.

I started with clothes.

Nothing too complicated. A few tops, jeans, sweaters, and the hoodie I always wore when I was tired.

Then my books. My camera. My charger. My toiletries.

Finally, I picked up my notebook from the desk. I hesitated before putting it inside. The photograph was still tucked between the pages. I opened it one last time. Mum's handwriting was still there.

There's a room waiting for you.

I closed the notebook and placed it carefully into the suitcase.

When I finished packing, I didn't feel relieved.

I didn't feel excited either.

Mostly, I felt strange.

Like I'd just made a decision that was going to change everything, even though nothing had changed yet

I sat on the edge of my bed and looked around my room.

Everything was still where I'd left it.

The photographs on my wall.

The books on my desk.

The little things I'd collected over the years.

Nothing had changed.

And yet, somehow, it already felt different.

Maybe leaving didn't begin when you got on a plane.

Maybe it began when you finally admitted you wanted to go.

I reached over and switched off my lamp.

For the first time, New Zealand felt less like a choice

And more like a new chapter waiting for me.