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this seemed like the best idea. We spent the day together yesterday―shopping, painting and decorating. Emma, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. In fact, Rachel’s probably more nervous than you are.”
    I wasn't sure if that was possible.
    When Sara was finally pleased with her work―having put away my clothes, arranged my books and set up the laptop and router that I received from Anna and Carl for Christmas, she announced, "I think you're all set." Nerves shot through me, realizing she was preparing to go.
    I tried to think of a way to delay her, but then Anna hollered up the stairs, “Sara, are you ready?”
    The truth was, I wasn't ready to be alone with my mother. And I gathered from her fidgety disposition, she wasn't ready to be left with me either.
    We said good-bye and lingered on the porch until they pulled away, inevitably leaving us alone. I walked back in the house and the awkwardness hit me in the face.
    “So... you can look around if you want,” she offered hesitantly, closing the thick wooden door, the pane of glass in the middle rattling when she clicked it shut.
    “Uh, okay,” I replied, veering right and stepping through the arched entrance of the kitchen. My mother remained outside the room in the foyer, watching me intently.
    Besides a layer of soft yellow paint, the kitchen probably hadn’t been updated since the house was built. The doors on the wooden cabinets hung slightly askew above a scarred countertop. A deep porcelain double sink sat below a window that looked out at the woods. A refrigerator that was smaller than me hummed loudly in the corner, with a white gas stove jetting out next to it. There wasn’t a lot of room for much else in the kitchen except for a small round table with four mismatched chairs. One of the chairs was pinned against the wall to allow room to pass to the entrance.
    “Help yourself to whatever,” she said from the doorway. The tight space didn’t allow enough space for two people to avoid each other. I peered in the refrigerator to find condiments and left over Chinese food that looked like it had been in there awhile.
    “Thanks,” I replied, closing the door.
    "Guess we need to go shopping, huh?" she noted with a nervous laugh.
    My mother stepped back with her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, giving me room to walk across the foyer to the living room. I could feel her eyes following me, adding to the mounting anxiety. I felt like I should say something, to make an attempt at some sort of conversation, but I had no idea where to start.
    So, I stood in the middle of the living room, playing nervously with my fingers, taking in the brown couch and love seat in front of the television. A spindled rocking chair rested in front of the front window. I paused in my tenuous inspection.
    It took me a moment before I realized where I knew it from. It used to be in my bedroom when I lived with her and my father.
    The sight of it caused my chest to tighten. I wasn’t prepared for the sudden flash of memories. I wanted to go over and touch it, hoping that by running my fingers along the carved arms I’d be filled with the happiness of the memories stored within its frame. Stories being told while wrapped in strong arms, rocking back and forth. Whispered words of love and promises as I drifted to sleep to the thumps of his heart against my ear. I could feel her staring at me as I remained motionless, my eyes locked on the chair.
    “I have a ton of movies.” Her voice crashed through my reverie, bringing me back to the present. It took me a moment to connect with what she’d said. I nodded at the built in bookshelf next to the window that was lined with DVD cases.
    "Oh, that's great."
    On the other side of the living room was a large sideboard displaying a sound system surrounded by an array of framed pictures. I walked over to them. I couldn’t say I was expecting pictures of me, but my stomach hollowed when I didn’t see any . I glanced