“I’ll consider it,” I promise him.
He kisses me, running the back of his rough hand down the side of my face softly. When he pulls away, he pecks the tip of my nose and then my brow.
“You were my wish,” he says.
“Huh?”
“When I blew the candles out on my birthday cake. I wished for you, Evie. You’re the only thing I ever wanted for myself.”
Every part of my body cries to confess my feelings for him. My brain is calling the shots.
“Holt, I—”
“We should get you to the party,” he interrupts me, perhaps scared of my response, “before every one wonders where you are.”
I shut my eyes on a drawn out exhale, my body tilting into his.
“Let them wait.”
Our front yard playing the role of a temporary parking lot, guests arrive in flocks with gifts and food in hand, lots and lots of food. The dining room and kitchen are overflowing with platters of deli meat, cheeses, homemade casseroles, fried chicken, and a variety of desserts. The house thunders with laughter and conversation, bursting at the seams with familiar faces. Plus, one I’ve grown accustomed to seeing every day.
I’m being chatted up by one of many people who’ve come to send me off into the world, bestowing the gems of knowledge they’ve acquired from years of experience on me, when my eyes catch Holt’s. Overwhelmed by the attention, I use him as visual Prozac. Excited flutters swarm my stomach and tingle across my skin. He smirks at me from across the hall, standing in the living room, talking with Queenie’s husband, probably about work he’s done on the property. People haven’t been able to stop talking about how wonderful the place looks. Once they found Holt was responsible, they circled him like vultures, with requests for him to work on their homes.
While my gaze loiters on him, someone enters the house, standing directly between us. My eyes refocus on the blurred figure. My jaw plummets. It’s—my father. He actually showed. I excuse myself and walk over to greet him. He notices me after a sweep of the party, a grimace tugging at his mouth and an overwrought brow.
“Hi,” I whisper, uneasy by his presence.
“Hello, Violet.” I flinch at the clumsiness of my name from his lips. It sounds alien in my ears. He’s stiff and formal. No warmth.
I suppose we’d hug under normal circumstances, a welcoming, loving gesture between father and daughter. Neither of us make a move, not even a handshake, as he might with a son.
“I’m glad you came,” I lie.
This is where I’d shove my hands in my back pockets nervously, but I’m in a dress per my mom’s request. Instead, I link my hands together behind my back.
“Your mother invited me.” He glances around shiftily, probably to ensure she isn’t within earshot. When he’s satisfied she isn’t, his eyes settle back on mine and he says, “I’m here to take you to New York with me.”
New York.
Yeah.
“Well, since we aren’t leaving yet, you’re welcome to grab yourself a drink or something to eat.”
“Actually, the sooner we leave the better. I’m needed back quickly.”
“I see,” I mutter, disappointed.
“Have to run back to your new wife so soon, Dick?” Meredith comes down the stairs, her scowling gaze trained on him. “You can’t even pretend to care about our daughter, can you?”
“Let’s not start this now, Mere. Not in a room full of strangers.”
“Firstly, these aren’t strangers.” She gestures a theatrical hand to our guests, lousily ignoring the conversation. “These people have been here for Evie when you weren’t. Secondly, you’re right. This is about my daughter. Not you.” She turns to me, sweeping her hand down my hair. “Why don’t you give us a chance to talk. I’m sure your friends want to spend time with you before you leave.”
No need to tell me twice.
I leave them and seek out a friendly face, a life raft in an ocean of people. Taylor appears from the kitchen, a small paper plate of meatballs balanced on upright palm, chewing on a mouthful.
“I thought you were an herbivore,” I taunt.
“Sue me,” she says with a half-chewed piece in her meat hole.
I heist the hand not occupied by Swedish balls and drag her into my room, an isle of quiet.
“What’s going on?” she asks amid the ground beef churning in her trap. She swallows and wipes her mouth.
“My dad’s here to take me to New York with him.”
“Is that bad?”
“I have to show you something.” I fire up my laptop resting open on my desk and sit her in front of it.
“Whoa,” she mutters, staring at the screen with the same shock I had on my face when I read it a week ago. I haven’t told anyone yet. For obvious reasons.
“Yeah.”
It reads.
Dear Miss Hathaway,
Let me start off by saying your interview was phenomenal. It’s been a long time since I’ve come across a candidate with the passion and potential it takes to fill the position, which is why I’m saddened to inform you we have given the internship to another. This has nothing to do with an inability to fulfill your obligations. The reason you didn’t receive the job was for one simple reason. You shouldn’t be selling paintings or talking about other artists’ works. You should be displayed among them, making the world a more beautiful place with your art. I’m sincere in what I said about your talent, Evie. You have a raw gift, which you shouldn’t let waste away.
As I told you before, I enjoy discovering the new and unexpected and giving them the opportunity to be seen. Bringing me to my point. I wish to bring you to New York, to take you under my wing, help you perfect your craft, introduce you to the right people, and show your pieces in my gallery. I want to back you.
Please let me know what you think at your earliest convenience. I await your response.
Sonya James
“Evie, this is a huge deal! One of the most prestigious art galleries in New York wants to represent you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I reply, staring mindlessly into the backyard from the double French doors. My voice must lack enthusiasm because she asks, “What aren’t you telling me?”
I glance at her.
“I’m staying in Aurora.”
She grabs my arms and twists me toward her.
“Are you sure you’re not making a rash decision?”
“I’ve given it thought.” I hug myself, clamping my hands on my biceps. “I’ve thought of nothing else for weeks.”
“You’ve been sitting on this for weeks?”
“Had to be sure of what I wanted before I told anyone.”
“What about painting? New York is the center of the art world. You won’t have the opportunities here that you would there.”
“I’m pretty sure we have paint supplies in New Hampshire. Besides, lots of artists live outside major cities. And there is the internet when I need to communicate with her.”
“Evie,” Tay says, “I want you to do what you want, you know that. But you have this amazing offer to work with one of the top names in the industry. She’ll show you the ropes and introduce you to other important people. You’ll be living in the greatest city on earth. You have to weigh your options.”
“You’re forgetting one important factor—” I mumble on an exhale. “If I stay, I’ll be close to Bailey. I missed so much when I was in California. I hated not being able to watch her grow up. I’d come home every few months and she’d change so much.”
“I want your happiness. And if you want to stay to be closer to your daughter, I support you. But is she the only reason?”
“No,” I answer, my line of sight dropping to my arms hugging my body.
“Are you in love with him?”
I face her at the desk, my arms sagging to my sides. “I wouldn’t call it love.”
“What would you call it?”
“It’s—something like love.”
“What the hel
l does that mean?”
“It’s that feeling right before love. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, life affirming knowing it’s the most important leap you’ll ever take, aware you’re right on the cusp of something great.”
“So—it’s not love. It’s something like it.”
“Exactly.”
“You should be more certain of your feelings before making any serious decisions about your future.”
“This isn’t about Holt—not completely anyway. I guess being here reminded me I love this place. I’ve missed it.”
“Are you sure you aren’t in denial about why you’re staying?”
“Maybe I am.”
She releases a breath through her nose, her mouth tight.
“Maybe this isn’t the best time to tell you this,” she says. “I’m going to finish out my law degree back in California.”
Tay graduated with a degree in environmental science with goals of becoming an environmental lawyer. She told me she would finish school and take the Bar out here.
I stare at her, my brow scrunching above the bridge of my nose. “When did you decide this?”
“When I was accepted to the law program at Stanford three months ago.”
“You never even told me you were applying there.”
“I did it as a farce. I never thought I’d be accepted.”
“But now that you were—”
“I have to take it.”
I smile, even though my heart’s shattering, and hold my arms open to her. She steps into me and we squeeze each other tight.
“I’m going to miss you,” I whisper, tears clouding my eyes over.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” she says with the same hushed tone, tears evident in her voice.
“Growing up sucks,” I joke.
We giggle.
“Totally,” she agrees.
I rejoin the party in an attempt to forget my best friend’s news and the choice weighing on me, anxious about the inevitable conversation with my parents. I would’ve told Meredith before the party, but she’d bought everything by the time the idea ever came to me. My renewed plan was to speak to her after the party. Then my father showed. Now I have to let him know he wasted his time and effort to come get me. I’m confident my mother will understand my decision. Richard is another story. He isn’t known to handle surprises well.
I manage to evade them successfully, ducking in and out of crowded rooms, until the guests trickle out, thinning my chances of hiding from them. When it’s no longer possible to dodge them, I drag in a jagged breath and ask to speak with both of them, taking the lead into the living room. I shut the sliding doors behind them and take a seat on one of the two chairs across from the couch, which they occupy, separated as far as they can get from each other.
“What is this about?” Richard probes sternly.
Meredith shoots him a deadly side-stare, annoyed with his no-nonsense attitude.
She smiles at me and asks, “What do you want to tell us, baby?”
I wriggle in my seat. Unable to sit, I rise again, standing before them both.
“Recently, I’ve come to an important decision. It wasn’t come to easily. In the past months, things have changed. I thought I knew what I wanted—and didn’t want—but in light of these changes, I’ve decided I won’t be moving to New York.”
“And what do you intend to do?” my father asks with a sharpness, his face redder than the brightest red.
“I’m staying in Aurora.”
“Why, baby?” my mom inquires. “Does it have to do with the land and finances?”
“Partly. I want to know you and the land are alright. But that’s not the main reason I’m staying.”
“Is it Holt?”
“This has to do with some goddamned boy?” my father asks, the muscles in his jaw ticking. He’s teeth-grinding mad.
“No,” I attempt to dispute, but my father cuts me off.
“This is your fault,” he screams, turning on my mother.
“Let’s not get riled up,” I interject, but we’ve entered the war zone.
“My fault?” She jumps up, getting in his face. She always could go toe to toe with him, even though he’s twice her size. “How is this my fault?”
“It’s no one’s—” Trying to mediate is pointless. Once they get going, I completely disappear.
“You’re allowing her to choose a worthless boy, who’ll break her heart, over a promising future. Where will she be then?”
“Please, don’t argue,” I plead, but my voice is barely legible under their bickering.
“No, we couldn’t have that, could we? You’re the only man allowed to break her heart, right, Richard?”
“You left me no fucking choice goddamn it! You crawled into Channing’s bed like some common whore.”
“What?” I breathe, collapsing on the chair behind me. Now I need to sit, my head spinning with his words.
“Richard, don’t,” my mother cries, her hands clasped together in front of her mouth.
“No,” he shouts, slicing his hand through the air. It’s his putting-my-foot-down gesture. His mind is made up. “I won’t take the entire blame for this anymore, Meredith. It’s time she knew what really happened.” He turns to me, his expression hard, but his eyes softer, apologetic. “Your mother—”
“Richard, please!”
He pays no attention to my mother’s cries of mercy. “Your mother was sleeping with him for years. I left because I couldn’t take it anymore. I was tired of being a joke in this town. I was tired of being her second best. When I left her, she told me to stay away from you, too.”
My world shifts. Everything I’ve ever known is a lie.
“How could you?” I scream, but it’s indirect. “Both of you. Neither are innocent! She may have cheated, but you left me behind. You could’ve fought for me, you could’ve tried. I did nothing wrong! Do you know I’ve been screwed up since then? I haven’t had a healthy relationship with men because of you! And you, Mother, how could you? How could you let me think he was completely to blame? You saw what it did to me!” I can’t be in this house, with these people, with these liars. “You know what? I’m done.” I run out of the room, tears creeping down my cheeks and chin.
Suddenly at my side, Holt asks, “Where are you going?” trying to keep up with my brisk pace.
“I’m leaving,” I snap.
“Evie,” he snags my hand in his, stopping me, “tell me what happened?”
“It’s lies,” I cry, ripping my hand away and running toward my car. Holt, hot on my trail. I reach for the handle, his hand snatches my wrist and he spins me around.
“Evie, would you please talk to me?” His knuckles trace the outline of my face.
“I need space.”
I unlatch the handle with my other hand, opening the door and wrenching my wrist from his grip. Before he can stop me, I slide into the driver seat and lock the doors. Having left the keys on the passenger seat from packing the car, I pick them up and shove them into the ignition with a quivering hand, tears pouring down my face.
“Evie, unlock the door,” Holt says in a placating tone, gently tapping on the window. I sit frozen, my hand on the key, ready to turn it over, crying so hard no noise comes out. “Come on, baby. Think about what you’re doing.”
“I’m not your baby,” I snarl, angry at the kindness in his voice, the understanding. I don’t want to be understood. I want to leave. I want to disappear.
“Evie,” he mutters, his lips trembling when my name crosses them, “I love you.”
“It doesn’t exist,” I retort, turning the key and shifting the car into gear. “Love is bullshit.”
I put the pedal to the floor and take off.
I hear him screaming my name. I stupidly glimpse back in my rearview mirror and spot him running back into the house, probably going for the keys to his truck. He’s going to chase me down, probably catch up to me halfway down Main Street, stop my car in some grand gestu
re, convince me to open the door, and then kiss me until I agree to come home with him.
But I know something he doesn’t. I’m not going through town.
When my front tires touch the edge of the highway, I shift the shifter into park and set my forehead against the steering wheel. My breathing is sharp and quick, my lungs struggling to drag in a full breath.
You shouldn’t leave him behind. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good guy. The first truly decent one you’ve met in a long time. Are you really willing to give him up? He won’t be here when you decide to come back. He’ll move on from here and from you.
Shut up.
If I turn right, I’ll never make it out of Aurora.
If I turn left—
I put the car into drive and turn left, traveling long into the night and early into the morning.
observing elements of an image working together in its entirety, by stepping back
from the piece
I didn’t notice the season change.
I didn’t notice the leaves on the trees turn to flame, wither, and die.
I didn’t notice the bitter winter set in, reflecting the gray cold of the world since she left, until Aurora lies under a thick blanket of white powder. It’s different from the town she left three months before.
It doesn’t feel out of place.
Why should the world be joyous and full of life when I’m not?
I trample through the bare bones of the dead forest, my boots sinking into the silvery ground. The chill of an icy wind bites the back of my neck. I flip up the collar of my wool coat then shove my gloved hands into the pockets.
Max bounces around in the powder, kicking it up into the air. It speckles his black fur as it rains down over him.
“I’m glad one of us is happy,” I rumble under my breath, visible in the cold.
He stops, staring at me with his head skewed to the side and his ears perked up. He lets out a whine.
“I miss her, too, boy.”
We break through the tree line. The little house is picturesque in the snow. It’s really something to see, white on white. It’s hard living here, the place I fixed for Evie, for us, for a future that now seems impossible to imagine. But it’s easier than living in the main house. Everything reminded me of her and the time we spent together.
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