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Nothing was quite the same after Mom left. Still, you didn’t blame her, not really. She had always been a free spirit, ever since you’d known her, you could only keep someone like that caged up so long. She’d stayed long enough to watch the daughter you’d made together flower into a beautiful young woman, then left you both in each other's care. Said daughter was a little less forgiving about the situation, declaring often that it was not right for her to have abandoned you. Yet, there was an air of understanding and appreciation of increased freedom in her complaints. During her early teenage years your home had been host to an endless cycle of conflicts between the two women you loved most. Now you and your daughter were closer than ever, joined by a shared absence and slowly working out how to stretch out your limbs and fill that void.

It was possible you were now TOO comfortable together, you and your only child. Equals in slovenly comfort and insular relaxation. Working from home as a writer meant you rarely had reason to get dressed up or leave your quiet, little farmhouse. A state of affairs that suited you fine and seemed an inherited quality. She would walk in from school on a summer afternoon and quite promptly drop all her smart uniform in the floor in a pile, stretching out the day's aches perfectly comfortably in just her bra and panties. Then she would meander around looking for snacks or entertainment before possibly finally finding a baggy t shirt to throw over herself. It was hard NOT to admire the slanting angles of her long legs as she lounged in some chair in the sun. Seemingly unaware of what a vision she produced just reading a book, half dressed and in complete comfort. She was so much like her mother in that way, blind to the constricting fear of other’s judgement.

When you emerged from your study she would greet you with a beaming smile straight out of her childhood, daddy's princess since birth. She would stand up and demand a hug, asking how the words were flowing today. More often than not in fact she would choose to share your workspace with you. Sitting quietly and pursuing her own interests, yet always maintaining that bond of presence between you. If stuck for inspiration you could admire her at any moment, one brow raised below her short, dark, tomboy-cut hair.

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