More silence followed the explanation.
“Greer?”
“I knew it,” she replied sadly. “I knew you would go there and not come back. I just felt it in my gut.”
Guilt that I was hurting her, worrying her, made me flinch. “Oh, Greer, that’s not true. It’s just these past four weeks flew, just like a vacation, and I didn’t have time to figure anything out. Now I have three months to do that, and I am certain I’ll know what my next step is going to be when I get back to Chicago.”
“Yeah but you might decide Chicago isn’t your next step.” She huffed. “And please don’t tell me your decision to stay has nothing to do with the hot farmer.”
“It doesn’t,” I snapped.
It didn’t.
Not really.
Not like that.
I’d posted an Instagram photo of Roane holding an impressive pair of melons to his chest beside a fruit stall at Alnwick Markets last week, with the caption “Some people are just blessed by nature’s bounty ;)”
Almost as soon as I’d posted that photo, I was inundated with comments from friends. Who was the mysterious hottie, and what was he to me? Mostly I ignored the comments, but I couldn’t ignore Greer’s phone call later that day.
I’d explained who Roane was and that we were just friends.
I thought she’d bought it.
Not that there was anything to buy. We were just friends. Even though he constantly flirted with me and was generally making every day harder to resist the temptation he presented.
“Oh, please.” I could practically hear the curl in Greer’s upper lip. “You went to England to get some distance from your life, met a gorgeous guy, and are allowing your vagina to dictate the next three months.”
For a moment I couldn’t speak. I was hardly ever on the end of Greer’s sharp tongue, but I knew she had one. She used it to eviscerate lazy colleagues at her design firm. Greer was a UX designer, specializing in the design of digital products like websites and apps. We’d shared the experience of working in a male-dominated office, and Greer had decided that to be seen, heard, and respected she’d be the resident ballbuster.
It worked for her.
I just never thought it would be directed at me one day.
The urge to snap back was great, but I reminded myself my best friend was pregnant. Shouting at your pregnant best friend was not cool.
“That’s not what I’m doing.” I kept my voice gentle, calm. “This is about me. What I want.”
“Then tell me this guy hasn’t got something to do with you wanting to stay?”
“You know not everything has to be about a guy, but if you want the truth, yes, he factored into the decision but not the way you think. We’re friends.” My chest ached whenever I thought of Roane. “And not just acquaintance friends or good friends but friends like you and I are friends. We connected immediately in a way I can’t explain. So, yes, part of staying for a little longer is so I can have more time with him.”
“Are you listening to yourself? Are you deliberately deluding yourself? A heterosexual man and woman cannot have that kind of connection and it not turn sexual. Are you saying there isn’t even a tiny bit of you that’s attracted to this guy?”
“So what if there is?” I snapped, forgetting my vow not to argue with her. “I’m not going to do anything about it. I didn’t come here for that. I came here because I was so goddamn lonely in Chicago, I couldn’t bear it, and until I figure out why that was, I’m staying here.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I squeezed my eyes closed in regret.
This time I wasn’t surprised by Greer’s silence.
“I didn’t mean that,” I whispered.
“Yeah, you did. And it breaks my heart that I didn’t know that.” She released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m . . . just sad that you’ll miss out on most of my pregnancy, which is selfish. We’re all following your Instagram here and you . . . God, you look so happy over there. I’m just worried. I miss my best friend.”
Tears stung my eyes. “You don’t think I miss you? You were the only thing holding me back from making this decision, and I feel selfish as hell for staying here while you’re pregnant.”
“Don’t. I was a snippy bitch before. Don’t feel guilty about this, Evie. This is your life, and what you said before you left is true. Your friends can’t stand still for you, but you can’t be our sidekick as our lives move forward. I don’t want you to be lonely,” she sniffled. “It kills me that you were lonely here.”
The tears that had been threatening let loose.
“You’re not lonely there, are you?”
“No.” I wiped at my cheeks, a small, fond smile softening my lips. “I’m not lonely here. It’s not like Chicago. This is a small village, Greer. Even when you’re single, you’re surrounded by friends. We meet at the pub almost every night and keep each other company. It’s nice.”
“It sounds nice. It’s also why I’m afraid you won’t come back.”
“My life is back in Chicago,” I said, the words automatic.
“Is it?”
For the first time, I paused.
Was my life back there?
Surely I couldn’t question that after only a month of staying in Alnster?
I gave a huff of laughter. “I’m sure after three months I will be sick and tired of tiny-village life. I’m a city girl.”
“Hmm.” Greer sighed again. “Have you told Josie?”
Josie was my mom.
My decision to stay in Alnster for three more months was based on a few factors. My mom was one of them, and I didn’t want to face her yet. “I left Phil a voice mail.”
“Evie,” Greer groaned. “That’s not fair.”
Feeling defensive, I scowled. “What? I tried to call. It went to his voice mail.”
“Did you try calling Josie?”
Indignation bubbled up within me, and I had to work hard not to sound irritated as I replied, “This isn’t about her. For once. So, no.”
“Okay, I won’t push it. You’re right, this is about you. You do what you gotta do.”
And just like that I melted, grateful to have a friend—no, a sister—like Greer in my life. “It means a lot to me that you would say that.”
“Well, I’m trying very hard right now not to be a self-involved dipshit, partly because it’s the right thing to do and partly because when I get off this phone and tell Andre you’re staying, he’ll give me this really disappointed look if he thinks I’ve been an unsupportive friend.”
I chuckled. “That must be some disappointed look.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
“I love you, dipshit,” I said, trying not to get overly emotional on her.
“I love you too.” Her voice had started to break. “Okay, see you later.”
She hung up quickly, and I knew it was because she was seconds from bursting into tears. I told myself it was her hormones because Greer usually had a better handle on her emotions than this.
It didn’t make it any easier to know that I’d made my best friend cry.
As I got ready for bed, my stomach churned with my decision. Not because I wasn’t happy to stay in England for three more months, but because Greer’s worries had begun to make a dent in my stubborn belief I’d return to Chicago.
What if she was right?
What if what I discovered about myself meant Chicago wasn’t right for me anymore?
This trip to Northumberland was my first international trip. As a kid, we’d vacationed within the States and Canada. Growing up, reading Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton, I’d dreamed of England. Of visiting. Living there. As I got older, plans changed. I lost myself in the minutiae of adulthood. England became merely a wish on a vacation bucket list. It didn’t occur to adult me to live somewhere ot
her than Chicago.
It never occurred to me there could be somewhere outside the States that would suit me so well.
My thoughts unsettled me, crashing into me like a massive wave and pulling me out to sea. I floated in that endless sea for hours, until finally, exhaustion dragged me into sleep, relieving me of my worries for just a little while.
* * *
• • •
Somewhere around five in the morning, I was jolted out of the peace of slumber by Tom Grennan. Confused, heart racing, I blinked into the dark of the bedroom, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from.
Then I remembered I’d changed my ringtone to “Found What I’ve Been Looking For” by Tom Grennan.
Panicked, I turned to fumble for it on my bedside table, thinking there must be some kind of emergency for someone to be calling me at this hour, when the song stopped. Grabbing my phone, I pushed up to sitting and unlocked it to see the missed call was from my mom.
I stared blearily at the screen for a moment.
Obviously, Phil had passed along my message to Mom that I was staying in England for another three months. What was she thinking? Would she think I was abandoning her? That I was done? Would this cause her to fall off the wagon? This was why I didn’t want to talk to her in the first place, because I didn’t want my concern for her dictating my choice. Not this time. At some point, I had to put myself first. Horrible flutters flapped around in my belly.
I’d only been staring at my phone a few minutes when it beeped, and an envelope appeared to let me know I had voice mail.
Oh God.
Just delete it, Evie.
But I couldn’t.
My curiosity was too great.
“Hey, baby girl.” My mom’s husky voice sounded in my ear as I listened to her message. An ache flared across my chest. “I just realized it’s probably really early where you are . . . so I’m sorry if I woke you.”
I relaxed at how clear she sounded.
No slurring.
Not off the wagon, then.
“I just . . . Phil told me you’re staying in England for another three months, and I couldn’t wait that long to say to you . . .” She sucked in a shaky breath and released it slowly, causing static on the line. “How sorry I am. Again. And . . . uh . . . well, I need you to know that if you can’t forgive me, if you can’t find it in you to give me another shot, that I understand, baby girl.” Her voice broke, her words filled with tears I knew were rolling down her face. “I need you to do what’s right for you, even if that means letting me go. I’ve been selfish with you for too long. So . . .” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was stronger. “You make the right choice for you, my beautiful girl, and don’t worry about me. You’ve been the parent in this relationship for way too long. It’s my turn to do right by you . . . I’m sorry I let you down so much. I’m sorry I never found a way to let you know that I love you more than I love anything in this world.”
The message cut off and I struggled to breathe through the tears that had started falling from the moment I heard her voice.
In all the times she’d apologized, my mom had never once said, I need you to do what’s right for you.
It sparked a hope.
But that hope had been crushed too many times to count.
Turmoil washed through me, and I knew there was no going back to sleep after that message. Instead I got up, brushed my teeth, washed the tears off my face, and pulled on a boyfriend cardigan I’d brought with me.
I made coffee, slipped on shoes, and went outside to watch the sunrise from the apartment’s private garden across the street. The village was eerily silent, no sound but that of the sea lapping at the small shore of the harbor.
The sky was a dark purple color, slowly brightening to pale blue streaked with orange as the sun began to rise.
Sipping my coffee, I forced tears back as I pondered the message from my mother. For weeks now I’d purposefully forgotten everything about the States except Greer.
It was all waiting for me when I eventually got back, and with the exception of my best friend, I wasn’t sure I wanted to face any of it. Which was why Greer’s suspicions about my reasons for staying longer in England didn’t sound so silly to me anymore.
The heartbreaking truth was that I’d been happier, more content, these past few weeks than I remembered feeling in a long time. Suddenly, I felt brittle with confusion.
The sound of a car engine broke through the peaceful silence, and I turned my head, surprised to see Roane’s Land Rover. The beam of his lights blinded me for a second as the SUV turned toward the center of the village.
But then suddenly he stopped, reversed, and swung left toward me.
He’d obviously caught sight of me.
My heart began to beat just that little bit faster.
Roane pulled up against the curb and jumped out. He strode unhurriedly toward the garden and jumped over the small gate rather than open it.
“Evie?” He took the steps two at a time down into the garden.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing up so early?” Roane sat down on the bench beside me, resting his arm along the back of it, almost cocooning me.
That’s all it took.
The man did something to my defenses.
Obliterated them.
An ugly-sounding sob burst out of me.
“Fuck, Evie.” Roane wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his warm strength. I burrowed into him, my tears soaking the front of his sweater. “Shh, angel.” He rubbed my back. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”
He did. Nothing felt safer than his arms around me, and I wondered if anything ever had. More confusion flooded me, so big it got stuck in my throat, the emotion choking me. I burrowed harder into Roane, fighting for breath through my tears, and wished for the feeling to pass.
When my tears eventually subsided, I panted a little, trying to catch my breath, and neither of us moved for a minute.
Turning my face on his chest, I looked up to the sky. It was lighter, almost completely blue, and cloudless.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
At Roane’s gentle query, I straightened, lifting my head. His hands smoothed down my back as I moved, one falling away, the other settling on my hip.
I met his concerned gaze, knowing I was probably a snot-nosed mess.
“My mom is an alcoholic,” I confessed.
Concern gave way to sympathy. “Evie.” He squeezed my hip.
I proceeded to tell him the things only Greer knew. The things I’d kept from previous boyfriends because Chace had used the knowledge as part of his arsenal in his cold war against my self-esteem. He’d used it to support the idea that I was ungrateful trash.
“My dad died of a heart defect when I was eight. One day he was there, the next he was gone. No one knew about the defect until it was too late. I only have a few memories of him that are sharp, clear, as if they happened yesterday. The rest are just impressions of him as a dad, as a husband. I was so young. But he was the kind of dad who sat patiently removing gum from your hair when you had a little-girl freak-out at the idea of the gum being cut out.” My smile was watery. “The kind of dad who cheered you on at Little League like you were the next Frank Thomas when in truth you couldn’t bat for shit. And he was the kind of husband who kissed his wife every morning before he left for work and every evening when he got home. The kind of husband who dried the dishes she washed and made her laugh when she’d had a bad day.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was. The best. And when he died, Mom started drinking to cope. She went to rehab when social services got involved, I was in foster care during that time, and then she got me back a few months out of rehab. But she fell on and off that wagon for a few years. Then when I was thirteen, she met Phil. M
y stepfather. That’s when she got help again, and she was sober for a long while. I was lulled into the idea that it was over.
“But then when I was nineteen, at college, Mom had a breast cancer scare. Nothing came of it, but it screwed with her head. She started to drink again.” I knew what Roane could see in my eyes. Despair. Pure and simple. “She’s been in and out of rehab for fourteen years. Her sobriety can last years and then something happens—losing a job, a friend dying—and she starts drinking again. Anytime life gets a little bit hard.
“Phil adores her. He’s a great guy and has been a wonderful stepfather, but he seems to have this unending reserve of patience and support for her.”
“And you?”
“I’m tired.” I smiled sadly through the tears that slipped quietly down my cheeks. “I’m tired of disappointment. For years it’s been a cycle of picking her up off the kitchen floor and putting her to bed, or getting a call from some stranger in a supermarket because my mom is so far gone, she can’t even remember how she got there. And then her remorse, her determination to get sober.
“And . . . it’s the hope, Roane. No matter how many times she disappoints me, that stupid, fucking useless hope won’t go away. It won’t listen to reason. Because she’s not a bad person. She’s a really good person, funny and sweet, with a big heart. She just has this huge weakness . . . and I don’t know how much more my heart can take.”
He pulled me back into his embrace, his lips against my temple, and I clung to him. I’d met him just a little over four weeks ago, and yet I felt like I’d known him my whole life. Like he’d been waiting here for me my whole life.
“What do I do?” I whispered, clinging to this human life raft he offered. “I don’t know what to do. Do I walk away for good or do I try again?”
“I wish I could give you an answer.” His voice sounded husky, as if abraded by a wound. Like he was hurting for me. The thought made my heart ache even more. “But only you can decide that, Evie. The good thing is, you’re here. You’re not there. And you have time to make that decision. You don’t have to make it right now. Just be here, Evie, with me. Your mum, Chicago, all of that . . . for once it can wait. Until you’re ready. Just be here with me,” he repeated in a whisper.
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