From the corner of my eye, I noticed that a pair of golden-brown eyes were fixated on me. I tried not to sigh. You would think I'd be used to this by now. One of the reasons why I had decided to leave, was the unwavering everpresent stare of my mother.

I've dealt with her specific brand of hypervigilance for upwards of 19 years. Unfortunately, my mother is an absolute weirdo, so I was required to endure her presence for only a few minutes longer. She drives fast,  infuriatingly fast, faster than I ever would dream to, so we would reach PDX in less than half an hour, if traffic stayed this sparse. 

Though, if I am being honest, if she wanted me around for longer she would probably have considered slowing down. 

But it couldn't be helped. Ever since Turning, my mother, Beatrix, is, well, the perfect specimen of a vampire. 

Beautiful, graceful, intelligent, loving. It had been almost two decades since she entered into immortality, and here she was driving her half-vampire kid to fly more than 3,000 miles away from her doting and smothering. 

She didn’t have to do this, but apparently it was an old tradition. Her mother had driven her to leave for college, and her mother, and etc. Ever since women were allowed to go to college, apparently. Her side of the family always had stressed the importance of education.  

Mom always was hopeless at trying to hide her emotions. During our short trip to the airport, she stared at me periodically, biting her lip softly. It was definitely just anxiety on my part, but I really wished she would look at the road more often. Or, rather, more consistenly.

Unfortunately, I made a mistake. For a moment I glanced over at her, and our eyes met. Her eyebrows twitched, as if to exclaim ‘an opening!’ Fighting back a wince, I could hear encounter music starting in the background.

An instant later mom opened her rose pink lips to sigh. "Liss," she said softly, almost bell-like in resonance, "you really don't have to leave us so soon." To my surprise, her voice was unusually despondent. In between her eyebrows a small wrinkle formed, and her mouth twitched, fighting the urge to grimace. 

Looking at her conflicted expression, I could feel my lips flatten into a sharp line. It seemed as if she were fighting herself from saying more than that. The last time she ran away with words and I ended up just running off into the forest for exactly a week, my cellphone conveniently left at home. 

"Mom, you've said that twenty times within the past month."  I tried not to sound like I was whining, but unfortunately acting isn't my strong suit. “I really think you need the space more than I do.”

And it was true, she had tried convincing me to stay with her, and Dad, with the whole extended family up in Washington. But I was stubborn. I actually stomped my foot when she objected the last time. Dad really got a kick out of that: he said it reminded him of mom's own little defiant streak. 

Unfortunately the wooden floor wasn't happy to be the outlet of my frustrations, so there's a bit of splintering where I threw my micro-tantrum. 

The more she hovered, the more I felt like I was suffocating.

I truly needed to leave. 

It isn't as if I hated my family—they simply just didn't know when to stop. It feels like every second of my life has been encased in bulletproof glass: safe, comforting, but somehow also isolating. 

That's why I was moving: I needed time away from the “protective influence” of my family. Life was out there and I had worn a deep groove in the routine my family had already carved out.  

"I know," sighed mom, seeming a little deflated. I glanced over, and her eyes were still two bubbling pools of golden worry. "I just don't feel ready to have an empty house." 

The classic Empty Nester Syndrome. My mother was definitely going to suffer in my absence, but if I was suffering under her constant vigilance, then what was the point?

I tried not to sigh, and succeeded. "You have Dad, and Auntie Carrol, Uncle Theo… the whole family." 

Her mouth flattned out into a line. "While that's true," she said carefully, "You can see why I hesitate, right?" 

Yes, it's true that while I am living in New York City, I wouldn't have time to hunt properly. But, thankfully, I wasn’t planning to just stay within the city limits. New York State and Washington were more alike than the residents of both would like to admit, down to the landscape and climate. Which meant suitable prey for me to choose from.

But, of course, Mom probably thought that I hadn’t planned things out as thoroughly as she or Dad would. 

"I thought I already told you: I'd go 'hiking' upstate every few weeks."  My promise was coated with derision that I was unable to hide. 

Mom grimaced.  "I know, but—," her fingers tightened on the wheel by a millimeter and she took a small breath, "the thought of being away from my little girl is a lot for me." 

I scoffed quietly and looked out the window. "I haven't been a little girl for a long while now." She went completely still, save for her arms and the subtle movement of her eyes on the road. 

"Your father said the same thing," she said icily, mirroring my annoyed expression. 

Ah yes, Caspian Clarke, my father and my one true cheerleader, was all-FOR having me leave the nest. In fact, he encouraged it. He relished having more time to spend with his wife, obviously. Unfortunately, most days it felt like I'd just stood in the way of their love. I know my parents loved me incredibly, but it just feels like they were always just a small bit more loving towards each other. It was borderline obsessive, but hell, it made them happy.

And that’s why I was going to college, regardless of what my family thought. An awkward reason for running away: trying to stop being in the way.

As I shrugged into the car door, the trees started to slow down. Surprised at the more sensible driving, I glanced over at Mom.  

She blnked slowly and sighed again. "I'm sorry, Lisanne, I don't want to seem as selfish as my mother, but I can’t seem to stop asking you to stay…" 

I shook my head lazily and sunk further into the door. I’d never actually met Grandma Lisa, but from what I’d heard, she was immature and irresponsible. Flighty, even. I remembered the few times Mom did speak about her life with grandma, it was a series of dissapointments, one after the other. And it all came to a head when grandma forgot mom at the testing site after the SATs during her Sophomore year. 

“We didn’t have cellphone service because she forgot to pay our bill a month ago, so I had to use other folks’ phones to call people who would actually fulfill thier promise to pick me up.”

The way mom spoke, it sounded like that was the last straw. By the time September came along that year she had already talked to Grandpa and transferred. Two days before the semester started, she hopped on a plane with a single bag and never looked back. 

The fact that she compared herself to grandma? No, not true in the slightest. "You're not even remotely like her, mom," I stated firmly, folding my arms. “Heck, you’re ten times more responsible than her.” 

Of course, she’d told me many stories of grandma’s misadventures, and her own efforts to put out the small fires that woman inadvertently started. But when Mom moved back to Seattle, it was obvious that she was the only thing keeping grandma in check. 

Beatrix Clarke giggled briefly, and then her eyes softened slightly, the traces of weariness under her lids. The humanity melted back into her face for half a second. 

"You say that, but I never can believe it—,” her voice lowered slightly, “even from your father." 

My eyes widened automatically. So even Dad couldn’t cheer her up? Talk about an impossibility!

One of these days I have to broach the subject of therapy for both of them. 

I lay a hand on her shoulder and looked away quickly. "You can come and visit in the Winter, y'know," I offered the suggestion in hopes she would shoot it down. 

Unfortunately, my mother has almost no dignity when it comes to me. 

She smirked, looking like she had just spotted a tasty full-grown moose. "Your father already bought the tickets!" 

Of course, I thought, trying not to let my disappointment leak out. She couldn’t pass up a hunting trip near Canada, much less a trip that involved seeing me. Nevertheless, I still mirrored her smirk and tried not to laugh, myself.

That was as good it was going to get. 

Not soon after our discussion, we pulled up to the airport. After an extended hug where she seemed to mold herself to my body, Mom dry-sobbed on my shoulder for a good minute, and then let me go.