“Now? Like this second now,” I ask as I try to catch up to speed with what’s going on. I barely pull my purse off the table next to me and end up grabbing my coat with so much haste it drops to the floor. Noah picks up my coat and hands it to me with a pleading look.
“I’m sorry, I guess I’m going,” I say, feeling very disappointed. I attempt to pull back from the death grip Gwen has on my arm to try and buy myself a little more time but fail miserably. I eventually give up and stumble backwards as she continues to pull me towards the front.
“Thanks for the drink,” I yell at him while being pulled further across the room. “And the kiss,” I joke as an eerie sadness begins to fill me inside.
I see Noah say something and try to gesture like he wants to pull me back. Every part of me wishes I was just a little bit closer so he could. The noise in the bar makes it too loud to hear what he is trying to say, and I’m already too far away to feel his touch.
As we leave the bar, a part of me feels left behind. I struggle trying to make sense of why I feel this way. I hurry alongside my best friend and reach the outside. I can’t help but hate her a little, something I don’t do often but just often enough to make me wonder why our friendship has lasted as long as it has. We slowly start walking towards the parking garage, stopping occasionally when Gwen trips over her own feet, and start walking again only when she insists she doesn’t need any help.
My mind wanders back to Noah. What would have happened if we stayed longer? If this wasn’t my last night in town, would I run into him again? I know it’s a long shot, but hey a girl can dream can’t she?
Every happy thought I have quickly dissipates though as I turn around just in time to see Gwen throw up in the bushes.
Evelyn
Fall finally arrived in Northern California when I return home from Orange County. It’s mid-November, and the trees are beautiful shades of reds and oranges. Millions of leaves line the streets and take flight when the breeze hits them just right. A late afternoon rain shower makes the sidewalks wet and the winter chill is slowly setting in after its long absence.
The rain feels incredible. California has been in another one of its ever long droughts, and our state has barely seen rain in four long years. I catch myself sighing contently as I drive through my small town, realizing how my love for the fall grows more and more each year. Rolling down the window, I let in the smell of fresh rain and breathe deeply. The light crisp fall breeze mysteriously finds a way of always refreshing me.
Eventually, I pull up to my apartment and can’t wait to get out and stretch my legs. The drive from Southern California to Nevada City is almost eight hours and seems never ending at times, especially that torturous last hour as anxiety over wanting and needing to get home creeps in.
Jumping out of the car in relief, I walk around to the trunk and grab my bag before heading inside. My apartment is an old Victorian house at the top of one of the main streets in town. It has been renovated and divided into four units. Walls have been erected in the foyer of the old house to establish separate living quarters. There are two apartments downstairs and two apartments upstairs. Mine is at the top of the stairs on the right and is actually the largest of the four, having two bedrooms in addition to the family room, bathroom, and kitchen.
I take the time to grab my enormous stack of mail that accumulated all week while I was away and try my best to balance carrying it upstairs with my luggage. With each step, I wonder how I will even manage to unlock my door but somehow pull off this juggling act and make it inside. Dropping my things in the entry, I run to the wall across the living room to start the heater. The one drawback to living in an old building is no central heating or air-conditioning, at least not in this old house. I don’t mind, though. One of the things that sold me on moving here is the charm of the old buildings. Growing up, I always admired this old Victorian town with its cute vintage houses and boutiques that line Main Street.
The wall heater soon clicks away, beginning to give much needed warmth to the room as I make my way to the kitchen and pour the biggest glass of red wine I can. Long car rides deserve big glasses of wine. Although, I find my mind slowly wondering what some good bourbon might taste like instead?
Shoving the thought from my mind, and the memory of the one man if evokes, I take sip after long sip and begin the torturous process of thumbing through my mail. Throwing bills and junk aside, I settle on a magazine and browse the pages, only half paying attention. As much as I try, I can’t stop thinking of the one thing that has been possessing my mind since last night.
Noah.
It’s driving me crazy. Even crazier is the thought that it doesn’t matter. I could go on thinking about him day, after day, after day and never see him again. For one, he’s from another state. Two, we never had a chance to exchange any information to contact each other. Thank you Gwen!
Or maybe I actually should thank her. Noah was a beautiful distraction. One I can’t afford and don’t need. In the short amount of time we sat at the table together, I found myself beginning to want him and that could be dangerous.
Having planned out my life many times before, I decided early on I would never let a man get in my way of accomplishing my dreams, and I’m not about to start now. I’m so close to what I’ve always wanted, and I cannot afford any distractions, no matter how tempting and delicious they might be. After graduating high school and having my dreams crushed when I didn’t get into a Southern California college, I’m not going to let a guy come along now and stop me from attaining that one goal. Moving home.
After college, I promised myself I would work a few years up north and put in my time as a new journalist, building a strong resume until the bigger newspapers would take notice. I’m so close I can almost feel it. All I need is that one shot at landing a big job, and I would be set.
No man is going to come along now and take the dream I have had ever since my parents moved me up north away—not even a southern boy, with charm for days, that has my head spinning and knees buckling in ways I have never felt before in my life.
Chemistry leads to feelings, which undoubtedly usually leads to sex. And sex typically leads to commitment, which obviously means a relationship. Which then leads to love and more feelings, and screws up my plans and my future.
Luckily Noah doesn’t live anywhere near here, which is a plus because what he ignites inside me without even trying scares the crap out of me. No thanks, love can wait. I’m a girl on a mission and love is not part of the plan.
But maybe …
Just maybe …
I let myself entertain the maybes as I stand with my wine glass in my hand in the middle of my kitchen and wonder how I might find him, or if I even could.
Should I Facebook stalk him? Search all the Noah’s in the whole state of Kentucky and see if he pops up? Social media has to be good for something right? After that, I can check into an institution and kiss any opportunity with him goodbye because that’s definitely crazy. He’s already making me lose my mind. Best to keep my distance and my sanity. I’ll be damned if I let anyone rearrange my priorities in life.
But maybe …
Smiling, I shake my head as I actually let myself consider this “maybe.” Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I wonder what I would even say?
“Umm, Hi, Noah was it? Creepy bar stalker here from California. How are ya?”
Or …
“Hey, Noah. It’s me, you know the girl you promised to show things about the south that would make me second guess any other plan I had in life? What cha’ doing next week?”
Laughing out loud, I have to admit as looney as it sounds, it’s actually kind of tempting.
But tempting is bad. Tempting means trouble. If he can tempt me so much just thinking about him, I wouldn’t stand a chance face to face.
Distance, Evelyn. Distance is your only chance at keeping your damn head straight.
I’m rattled out of my thoughts as my phone rings on the
counter and makes me jump. Glancing at caller ID, I see it’s my mother and involuntarily roll my eyes.
“Hey, Mom,” I say when I reluctantly pick up my phone. Normally I have a great relationship with my mother, although the holiday season turns her into Martha Stewart on crack. Everyone and everything has to be perfect, and I know this is just another one of those phone calls to discuss the upcoming festivities as well as my need to be present at her dinner party later this evening. The one I was hoping to avoid if I had just gotten home a little bit later. Or maybe I should have just played it off like I wasn’t home yet. Silently chastising myself for not having this thought before I hit accept, I blame it on the wine as I wait to hear the rambling of the one and only Cynthia Monroe on the other end.
“Evelyn! Are you home yet? Please tell me your home,” my mother begins interrogating me frantically.
“Yes, mother, I just walked in the door,” I hiss back.
“You just walked in the door? Good Lord, Evelyn! You need to get ready and go right back out the door again. The Roberts will be here at five. You know how I hate it when you’re late, Evelyn Anne Monroe!”
I know I’m in trouble. My full name only comes out when my mother wants to scold me—and this time for a crime I haven’t even committed yet.
“It’s fine, Mom. I’ll just come like I am. I was only driving all day..”
I try and argue, but my mother cuts me off, “No you most certainly will not,” she yells back at me, taking the time adding emphasis on the last two words. “Trevor is in town visiting his parents. He is coming to dinner too. You need to be looking and acting your best. I want grandchildren before I’m ninety, Evelyn!”
And here we go again. It’s hysterical to me that before a woman is twenty-five, she’s supposed to focus on a career. Once she hits her mid to late twenties, most people look at her like she’s washed up and her prime is ticking by quickly.
“Mom! I already told you, this thing you think is going to happen one day between me and Trevor will never happen. Drop it already,” I say through gritted teeth as my body cringes at the idea of Trevor and I actually having ever been an item.
The Roberts and my family grew up together. My older brother Michael is best friends with Trevor’s older brother. They did everything together as far back as I can remember, and Trevor always tagged along wherever the older boys went. Growing up, I thought it was just so he could act older. Now, I know it was so he could be near me any chance he could get.
Trevor’s the same age as me, and for a brief second I gave into his schoolboy crush when we were sixteen. What started off as a wild and hot summer fling, I later totally regretted. I was young and lonely and knew his feelings ran way deeper than mine ever could.
I started the relationship thinking maybe my feelings would grow and change over time. Everyone likes a summer romance right? I quickly realized that starting anything with Trevor Roberts was one of the worst mistakes of my life. At first it was fun, new and exciting. Like when you’re climbing a roller coaster all the way to the top. Thrilled at what might come next, only to soon be jerked and bumped around through one disaster after another.
The more he confessed his undying love for me, the more I regressed into a little hole I never wanted him to pull me out of again. The more I pulled away, the angrier and more possessive he got. I left him at the end of summer with a broken heart he obviously never recovered from.
My mother’s voice breaks me from my past. “If you two had the hots for each other once before, you can find a way to get the hots for each other again!” I cringe again at my mother’s use of the term “hots.”
“Now get your little butt going,” she insists in a pleasantly annoying voice, trying to get her way. “And wear the blue dress I bought you that you look so adorable in. You better not be late, Evelyn Anne!” With that my mother hangs up.
“Goodbye to you too, Mother!” I snap into the already dead receiver.
As I set my phone down, I proceed to take long sips of wine staring across my living room and contemplating not even going at all. I laugh at the horror of putting my mother through anything like that and know if I want to live to see another day, the better option is to go.
Cynthia Monroe is as punctual as punctual could get. Growing up, my childhood home was immaculate. If you even sat at a chair in our front sitting room to put your shoes on, my mother would know the chair had been sat in, and heaven forbid maybe moved.
Little annoyances like that are easy to laugh at now, which my brother and I do on a regular basis. Although living in that world day in and day out, and having to be unnaturally perfect all the time was terrifying. I often wonder how my father puts up with it, but then I smile knowingly. One word. Scotch. Lots and lots of scotch.
I begin walking to my bedroom and dread every step I take, knowing it’s leading me to a night I’d rather fast forward through. Right now all I want to do is slip into my frumpy comfy pj’s and flop my butt on my couch. A fire in my fire place, a big glass of wine, the cool fall breeze from an open window, and a chick flick marathon sounds more appealing than the night awaiting me at my parents’ house.
Flicking on the light in my room, I start rummaging through my closet. I debate briefly doing what my mother requested and dare to wear the blue dress. Though always the rebel when it comes to her, I settle for a little black number that turns heads. It’s fun and flirty. The glass of wine and call from my mother obviously leaving me feeling feisty. Maybe letting her think there is something between me and Trevor could be fun. I toast to myself in my mirror and think, let the night begin.
Even though I don’t like Trevor, I still enjoy the idea of making him drool all night. Plus, if I have to deal with my mother in her current state, I need to have a little fun. Not wearing what my mother so strictly tried to enforce will also give her the hint to stop trying to control my life. Not that I have much luck in that department. She hasn’t stopped trying in twenty-seven years, and I know she probably won’t stop anytime soon, if ever.
Throwing on my dress, I grab some red heels to give the outfit a little extra kick. What the hell, what’s the point in life if you aren’t having fun right? My mother hates these heels. She insists they make me look like I’m asking for it. Totally a plus. One thing my twenty-seven years have taught me is go big or go home, especially when it comes to annoying my mother. And tonight, between her and Trevor Roberts, this outfit is guaranteed to give me the upper hand.
Pulling my hair back in a low ponytail, I start to freshen up my makeup and take a moment to savor my last few sips of wine.
Walking back to my kitchen, thoughts of a certain tall, dark, handsome southern gentleman consume my mind. I wonder what he would think of my tight black dress and “come get me” heels. Would it make him act a little less like a gentleman? Maybe he’d have the guts to pull another stunt like he did last night in the bar.
“Get over it, Ev. You’re never going to see the guy again!” I say aloud, laughing at myself.
The brief fantasy makes me smile, yet pulls at all the wrong places and stirs up something I can’t quite put my finger on inside. Even though I don’t need a distraction right now, I can’t deny the fact that I’d love a chance to be near him again.
I shake my head and tell myself to focus. Stick to my plan. Tempting distractions are not part of the plan.
Setting my glass down on the kitchen counter, I grab my keys, purse, and coat and start towards the door. Glancing back at the clock, I see I have exactly forty minutes to speed like mad towards my childhood home. Better not be late. I smile to myself as I lock my front door and head towards my car, knowing my mother can’t handle my tardiness, the dress and the shoes all in one night.
Evelyn
My parents live in a town called Auburn, forty minutes south of Nevada City. Auburn and Nevada City are very similar to one another, both having a small old fashioned Main Street surrounded by rolling hills and houses. Although Auburn definitely comes with many
more amenities. Most of the drive to and from takes place along a two-lane highway through tall trees and endless countryside. Once I arrive in Auburn, a short drive through some of the old Main Street and up a few more rolling hills brings me to the home I grew up in.
My parents live in a suburban community called Ridge Crest. Huge houses sit side by side, perched up on hill tops, looking down on the people and cars passing through. Beautiful gardens and winding driveways bring you to the most beautiful custom-made homes. Each home is charmingly perfect in its own way, and makes a statement of money, power and prestige.
As I turn into my parents’ driveway, I continue to feel smaller and more insignificant the further I drive up it. Glancing at the clock, I see it is 5:08.
“Damnit!” I curse under my breath.
The house looms over me as I pull up to the front porch, almost as if it is watching and judging my every move. Standing on the massive front porch, judging me right along with the house, is my mother with a glass of wine in her hand. She’s reluctantly glaring at me as I pull to a stop.
My mother doesn’t waste much time and is already descending the steps to meet me as I climb out of my car. I take a deep breath and exhale, readying myself for a battle that’s obviously been brewing long before I even pulled up the driveway. Although I love my mother, I have already had a long day and don’t feel like having it out with her tonight.
“What … are you … wearing?” is my mother’s first demeaning comment. She reaches out and grabs a hold of my dress as I walk past, almost as if touching the dress will make her realization that I obviously didn’t follow her strict instructions more obvious.
“Oh my God!” She gasps. “Those shoes, Evelyn!” she shouts as I walk up to the front door.
“I brought you more wine, Mother,” I respond, waving the bottle in the air. I continue walking, trying to ignore the lecture that I know will pursue me if I dare pay her any attention. A smile spreads across my face as I quickly walk up each step. I know my mother is irate, but there is nothing she can do about it either.
Indecision Page 4