Liberty

“Hey baby girl, how was your day?”

I shut the door gingerly behind me, allowing my eyes to wander to where my mom sat perched on the couch in the living room. She looked up at me with her big, warm tawny eyes, brushing a stray coffee colored hair toward her ponytail. Something about her nearly undetectable southern drawl and radiating kindness made me smile, despite the books weighing down my backpack, waiting to be covered.

“Hey Mom,” I grinned, flinging my backpack against the wall and kicking off my shoes. My mom rolled her eyes, but went back to the laundry basket in front of her, carefully folding the jeans.

I sat next to her, pulling my legs under myself as I eyed the cheesy soap opera plastered across the television screen. I quickly lost interest and instead watched Mom. She was by far one of the most beautiful women on the planet, but didn’t seem to notice.

She was born and raised in Georgia and met Dad when he was stationed there in the army. They fell in love, and she returned to Illinois with him. She’s the sweetest, kindest person in the world, but also tough as nails. Mom’s a warrior, and Dad claims that’s what I am too. If I’m anything like her, then I must be lucky.

“So, you never answered me. How was the first day of school?” Mom prodded, hitting me with a pair of my shorts. I took the hint and started helping her fold, my day replaying in my head.

Along with that damn English activity.

“It was fine,” I shrugged, setting a pair of folded pants in a pile. Mom stared at me in disbelief, and I sighed dramatically.

“It was mostly just syllabuses and their expectations, along with a couple of overviews in more advanced courses,” I explained dully, hoping it would appease her.

“Mostly?” she inquired with a lopsided grin on her pale pink lips.

Dammit.

“Well,” I mumbled, feeling the warm blush creep on my alabaster cheeks. “In first hour Ms. Bailey had us try some activity. It was to lighten the mood, and get an insight into how our peers see us. Something like that.”

“And?”

“And nothing. We had to write our names on a piece of paper, and then it got sent around the classroom. Everyone wrote one thing they thought described the person.”

“Well, what did they write about you?”

My cheekbones felt as though someone was holding an open flame to them. Hell, they were probably the color of said flame.

“Oh, crazy, free spirited, smart, stuff like that.” I quickly stood, looking around. “Jeez, what do you know. All done folding. Why don’t I go switch laundry around for you?”

I rushed everything out in one swift sentence, my hands grasping around the beige basket. I was halfway to the laundry room when my mom intervened.

“I don’t think so. Liberty Anne Russell get your butt back over here.”

The air rushed dejectedly from my lungs, and I plopped back onto the soft eggshell fabric of the love seat. Mom raised her eyebrows expectantly, and they disappeared in her wispy bangs.

“Someone wrote that I was beautiful,” I mumbled, covering my burning face with my hands.

Mom’s laughter filled the open room, echoing off of the toffee walls, to my utmost horror. Why couldn’t I be like everyone else my age and be able to tell a decent lie to my parents? I’m not talking anything drastic, just tiny white lies, to avoid mortifying situations like this! I mean, I’m perfectly trustworthy, unlike some people who use this ability to steal money, or do drugs! Is it really too much to ask for?

Naturally.

“Of course they did sweetheart,” she responded sweetly, smoothing my hair behind my ears. “Was it a boy?”

Her eyes glittered, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or crawl into a hole. I don’t know how I ended up being the girl who spilled my love life to my mother. Ironically enough, I barely had a love life to spill. Either way, for good or bad, I entrusted these things to Mom.

“I don’t know! We didn’t put names,” I squeaked honestly, peeking at her from between my fingers.

“I bet it was a boy,” she mused, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I glared at her, snaking my own arms around my torso.

“Mom!” I screeched, squeezing my eyes shut and burying my head in her shoulder. She laughed again, stroking my hair.

“Libby, you’re gonna have to face it sooner or later. You are, in fact, beautiful. There are guys who are bound to notice, and eventually, one who’s going to steal your heart.”

“I like my heart just where it is; in my chest cavity,” I groaned sarcastically.

“Way to take the literal route, Lib.”

“I try,” I smirked. “But really Mom, when and if, and this is really more of an if of gigantic proportions here, I find a guy, he’s not going to steal my heart.”

“Oh?”

“Uh huh. I don’t want someone who steals anything from me, especially vital organs.” Mom opened her mouth to interject, but I held up a hand. “If it comes to that, I’d much rather have someone who I give my heart to willingly.”

She pulled me a bit closer and kissed my forehead. She bit her lip, a nervous twitch she’d had as long as I could remember, and gave me a soft beam.

“You’re so incredibly wise beyond your years, baby girl, but there’s something that you just don’t realize yet.”

I drummed my fingers against my ribcage impatiently. What the hell did she mean by that? Mom always felt the need to make you curious to the point of insanity before giving you any sort of advice.

At this particular moment, it wasn’t doing me any good.

“Mama,” I whined, jutting my bottom lip out a little. She laughed airily, pressing another light kiss to my temple.

“In theory, your plan is the epitome of what love should be about. It’s very…politically correct, if you will. However, when true love steps in, there isn’t really a conscious choice about it. They have your heart, whether you like it or not.”

I looked up at her curiously, nibbling on my cheek. “So, when you fell in love with Daddy, it was like that?”

“Oh baby girl, I never stood a chance. Do you think that I even imagined I would want to fall in love with a soldier, or pick up and move miles away from my family and friends, and everything I knew?”

I saw her point. The more she talked, the clearer everything was becoming. And the more I started fearing for my life, and, well, the vital organ sitting in my chest cavity. The worst part, though, was knowing that I hadn’t a clue who had this hold on my heart.

“Sure, relationships should be about give and take. You give them your trust, your happiness, and in a way, yourself. But when it comes to your heart, it’s different; they capture that, whether they intend to or not. And baby if you’re lucky, you’ll have captured theirs in return.”