Falling For Amelia Manning

"Do you want to talk about it yet?"

Phoebe sat with a bag of chips in her lap, her hand halfway into the bag, while she thought about what brought James and her into a situation like this. They haven't needed an emergency sleepover since they were twelve when James' mom left without saying a word. Little did Phoebe know that it was the same subject keeping them up on a school night.

Not being able to trust her voice just yet, James only shook her head in response before shoving the crust of Phoebe's last piece of pizza into her mouth, so she wouldn't have to talk about it.

"That's fine, mom said you can stay here however long you need, but I have to warn you," James looked up at her finally. "She's going to call your father to make sure everything is okay," Phoebe danced around the subject but tried to maintain the vibe in the room that told James she was alright.

"All he'll say to her is that I overreacted." James threw the last bit of the crust into the box between them. They had been sitting on Phoebe's bedroom floor for the last couple of hours since the pizza arrived. It was silence for the most part, aside from the little tv in her room playing old cartoons on VHS tapes that should have been donated a long time ago. The girls could never part with them, at least that's what they told Phoebe's mom.

"Did you overreact?" She asked her gently while picking at the edge of a potato chip trying not to think of the hours, she needed to run off everything she just ate. "No, I didn't overreact, I reacted the way you're supposed to when your stupid mother comes back from the dead." Whipping her head up, Phoebe's shocked expression was everything James knew it would be before she uttered the words. "She's not dead, maybe just dead to me – that – was an overreaction." She finished.

"What are you talking about James?" Phoebe finally saw the sad draw of her face. The paleness of her eyes when she looked up at her. The red puffiness of her face that didn't go away after the hours of sitting and watching movies. The only thing that would have her upset like this would be her mother.

"I'm talking about walking into the kitchen like it's a normal day, and finding my mother sitting at the table as if nothing happened six years ago." Slamming the pizza box closed, James pulled herself onto the bed and buried her face into the millions of pillows covering the blanket. "She came back?" It was the only thing Phoebe knew to say at a time like this. She wasn't sure if James still hated her mother or if seeing her after all this time made any sort of love, she held onto come back. Sitting back against the wall, she waited to see how she needed to feel about this. Because if James wasn't as angry about it as Phoebe felt, then she didn't want to make things worse.

"Twelve years old, and she just leaves! What type of mother does that?!" Half muffled by the pillows, Phoebe listened to the same wails she heard when they were twelve and it hurt her all the same. Personally, Phoebe hated James' mom, and if she had the chance to see her again in person, she would gladly take any punishment for decking her one. If only to give that woman an ounce of the pain she's caused her best friend.

"Bad people do that. People that can't see any other side to the lives around them. People that think the way they live their life is the only way. Your mother is one of those people. I kind of hate your dad for letting her back into the house." Phoebe's voice started to rise higher with every word of hate she wanted to say about that woman. Even if her mother heard her being so loud, the moment she knew what it was about, she would have just added to the noise.

"What if they come here after talking to your mom? I don't want to see either of them." A sadness Phoebe hadn't heard in a long time came from James' lips. One that made her furiously stand up, brush the crumbs off her sweatpants, and throw her fists onto her hips. "We're going to the backyard. Now." With the stance Phoebe chose to take, it didn't leave a lot of room to argue with her, plus James was tired and it was just easier to do as she asked.

Rolling off the bed, James found her footing and walked silently behind Phoebe as they trekked their way through the house and out the back door. Looking around, James noted not seeing Mrs. Edan anywhere, she only hoped that she wasn't falling into whatever trap her mother has her father under. The second they entered the backyard, James let the fresh scent of wet grass and the roses Mrs. Edan has painstakingly tended to for as long as she's known her.

When she watched Phoebe pick up an old Lacrosse stick from the grass, she knew what they were about to do.

"Heads up," she called, and James reached up in time to grab the Crosse stick from the air. She's never really liked the game, not just because it's been a mission trying to get her friend out of it, but because it was never interesting to her. Watching Phoebe play it, however, has always been entertaining. "I don't want to play catch right now," James complained as she twirled the Crosse stick in her hands. Maybe going out for color guard would be fun, she thought. Pushing the idea from her head, she watched as a ball came for her face.

She caught it, swiftly in the basket, her reflexes have always been good. "I don't care if you want to or not, this will distract you and I need some practice," Phoebe told her just before picking up her current stick and waiting for the ball to be returned. Knowing she wasn't going to get out of this without playing a little, James tossed the ball back with the stick.

"What would you say to your mom, had you not left the house?" Rocking her head back with a tired sigh, James tried to push the anger further under her skin while she caught the ball being thrown back.

"I think I would start with why...Why she left without saying anything. Why she sent divorce papers in the mail a couple of years later without an explanation. Why she's here now after everything she did to us." James started as they moved around the backyard with the ball. The more repetitive they were the more James' mind started to drift away from the anger pent up inside of it.

"That's a good start. What do you imagine she's been doing all this time?" Phoebe asked while keeping an eye on the ball and James, making sure she wasn't being too harsh with the questions. "I think she was living her life the way she wanted. Maybe she started teaching somewhere else, maybe she even liked it." James shrugged and threw the ball back.

"I forgot she was a teacher before she left. I wouldn't want her teaching me, that's for sure."

"She wasn't that bad. I remember sitting in on one of her classes when I was ten and the kids liked her. Maybe she found something to live for outside of our family."

There was another, deeper, sadness to her voice this time. It wasn't because of her naturally lower octave or that she had cried for half an hour after coming over, it was because she thought of her mother in a different context then she ever has before.

"Do you think you'll forgive her?"

When the ball stopped being passed and James lowered the stick, Phoebe thought she said something wrong. It wasn't until nearly being beamed in the fact that she realized James was just thinking about the question.

"I don't know if I can. When I saw her sitting at that table, it was as if nothing changed. I was coming home from school, dad was cooking, and mom was sitting there laughing at something he said. Normal." She shrugged again, and Phoebe understood where she was coming from, James hasn't had a lot of normal since her mom left.

"I still hate her," Phoebe started, she lowered the stick from in front of her and looked at James. The bags under her eyes from crying off all her makeup. The disheveled hair from rolling around on the bed. The old sweatpants that were too small for her, she had left them at the house years ago. This wasn't her James. "I will always hate her because she did that to you. She rejected you so fully that it threw you into a suicidal rage at the age of twelve up to fourteen. It took you years of ongoing therapy to get over what she did, and she just walks back in as if nothing happened. So, I'm sorry, even if you forgive her, I don't think I can."

The backyard filled with tension but as soon as James' shoulders relaxed, and she looked at Phoebe across from her, she realized why she could forgive her mother one day.

"I think I could forgive her, a long time from now because you will always protect me. You will hate her for the rest of your life which will help me move on." James tossed the ball back just after the sliding back door was opened.

"James, your father is here, he wants to talk."

"Is he alone?" Phoebe spoke up first.

Her mom didn't say anything, which gave them all the answers they needed. With matching sighs, they tossed the sticks to the side and walked into the kitchen, hand in hand, behind Phoebe's mom.