by Kelly Risser
***
I smelled the smokiness of bacon before my eyes even opened. Most weekday mornings were all about cereal and yogurt. We reserved hot breakfast for the weekend. Mom must have woken up early. I dressed fast and went downstairs.
I yawned as I came into the kitchen. “You’re cooking?”
Mom smiled. Although her eyes were puffy, she seemed better. “I figured that I owed you one after bailing on dinner last night.” She set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table. “Do you want some orange juice?”
“I can get it,” I told her. “Go ahead and fix your own plate.”
“All right. Pour me a glass, too, please.”
We sat and ate in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. When we finished, Mom gave me a considering look. “I think it’s time to introduce you to your grandparents.”
“My grandparents?” I repeated. “Mom, I don’t understand. You haven’t talked to them in years.”
“I thought about it last night,” she continued. “Your grandparents are the only other family you have, Meara. When…” I gave her a look, and she corrected herself. “If I go, I don’t want you to be alone.”
“But don’t they live in Canada?”
“Yes.”
She looked at me expectantly, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally, I asked, “Are they coming here?”
“No,” Mom said. “We’re moving to Peggy’s Cove.”
“For the summer?” I’d never get to the ranch with Kim, and Peggy’s Cove sounded boring. It was a fishing village in Nova Scotia. Super small and probably full of smelly, old people. I couldn’t think of a worse place to spend my vacation.
Mom shook her head. “For good.”
For good? My heart sank. “We can’t move. All my friends are here! It’s my senior year. I can’t start over at a new school.”
“Meara.” Mom’s voice took on that no-nonsense tone. “We’re moving.”
“But, Mom…” I whined, hating myself even as I did.
“No buts, Meara. I’m not giving you a choice. In two weeks, we’ll be in Peggy’s Cove.” Her eyes filled with sympathy, but her voice remained firm.
“This is so unfair!” I was about to say more when I looked at my mom’s pale face. Oh god. Unfair was the fact that she was dying. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
“I understand, Meara.” Mom’s voice softened. “I know this is hard for you. I wish there was another option.”
Standing, I put my plate in the sink. I had to get out of here before I said something I’d regret. How could she move us to Canada and not even ask me first?
“I’ve got to leave for school,” I said.
“Do you want a ride?” Mom asked.
“No thanks.” I tried to keep my voice light. “I’d rather walk.”
Slinging my backpack on my shoulder, I headed out the door. I barely noticed the walk to school. I was moving to Canada, where I knew no one. What kind of people were my grandparents? Would I like them? Would they like me?
My life was about to do a complete one-eighty, and I felt helplessly unprepared.