Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
ALEX
Two years. Two years and four lawyers and all my savings, but it’s finally mine. I stand in front of Uncle Jerry’s house in Magnolia Ridge with my chest puffed out as the moving van pulls out of the driveway. They’ve been moving furniture and boxes in all day and are finally done, which means I can go in and start this new chapter of my life.
I used to visit Uncle Jerry on every school break and over every summer all the way up until high school, when my commitments wouldn’t let me go. But I wrote him letters every month. Uncle Jerry wasn’t much for talking on the phone and didn’t carry a cell. He still had a home phone and an ancient answering machine, so sending snail mail was his preference.
When he passed away, I was devastated but mostly filled with guilt for having not visited more in recent years. I would like to give a good reason for that, like I got married and had kids and have been busy with a fulfilling life, but the moment I tried to put a finger on why I hadn’t come to see him, I came up short.
In truth, I’ve been working and working and working some more. And for what? The view from the window in my office is shameful. My boss hates me. And two days before I quit, Geraldine, the one-hundred-year-old office manager, sent me a memo about my “excessive use of office supplies” and how a second warning would come with a notation in my permanent human resources file.
So yeah, I quit. And I took all my clients with me. No, I do not feel bad about it. I only stayed as long as I did because of the custody battle for my uncle’s property. His only child—my cousin Todd—didn’t actually want it. He just didn’t want me to have it because Uncle Jerry liked me better. But I won. I finally fucking won, and the day I heard from my lawyer that it was for sure, I marched into my boss’s office, slammed down a box of paper clips, and said, “See ya never.”
Don’t worry. I looked over my employment contract very thoroughly before sending an email to all of my clients to let them know they’d be reassigned, and casually mentioning I was starting my own freelance marketing business and to let me know if they needed anything during the transition. My most loyal clients jumped ship immediately, and a few others followed suit shortly after.
I step through the familiar red door into the living room and take note of some cobwebs that need a good brooming. It smells a little stale in here, no doubt a byproduct of sitting stagnant for two years.Light filters in through the big front windows—west facing so he could sit on his porch and watch the sun set. I did too, on many summer nights.
If I’m being honest with myself and take off the rose-colored lenses for a moment, the place is in a state of disrepair. The paint is peeling, the floors need to be refinished, and there are nail holes everywhere. Seriously, it looks like he tried hanging each picture with four warm-up holes before making the final one that he actually used. Let’s not forget that every single light fixture, switch cover, doorknob, and faucet need a major update. It’s not that I don’t love the vintage look, but nothing matches.
Something tells me I need to figure out where the hardware store is and fast. I make a mental note to sort that out on Monday and unstack some boxes in the kitchen as I search for a pan. If I recall, this town is not hustling and bustling with fast food or delivery services. I doubt that’s changed from when I was a kid. So I stopped by the one little grocery store in town—Bob’s Grocery, and no I’m not making that up—and bought myself some easy meals until I get myself sorted out. Which just means I’ll be living off grilled cheese for a few days.
After locating everything I need, I get to work on my new stovetop. I did have the good sense to replace all the appliances, as I was told his were at least twenty years old. They arrived before me and the movers, and the real estate agent I worked with was kind enough to open the place up for their installation. It was some real small-town hospitality. Which is the entire reason I’m here.
When I heard of Uncle Jerry’s passing, I sat for a long time, taking stock of my life. That’s when I discovered I didn’t have one. Not really. I blamed it on the city smog and early-morning commutes and needless meetings. I blamed it on the fact that it’s impossible to date in the city and you end up ghosted half the time and filled with regret the other half.
I want to slow down. I want to work for myself at my own pace. I want to breathe in the fresh mountain air and not hear a horn blaring out my window every half hour. I want to find a good woman with her own passions and opinions, who’s not out at the club every weekend. I’m not passing judgment, by the way. If that’s your thing, great. It’s just not mine.
After pouring a glass of tea, I sit on the couch, which is currently shoved into a corner facing the wall. I balance the paper plate of grilled cheese triangles on my lap and set my cup on a box next to me.
Yeah, this is it. As I take my first bite, the blinds covering the window to my left come crashing down to the floor in a very loud, very dramatic thud. I turn slowly, holding the bite of sandwich in my mouth but not actively chewing as I take in the sight of plastic blinds strewn on the floor. How or why they fell is an absolute mystery to me. I see no causality.
I should probably start a list for the hardware store. Something tells me I’ll be spending a small fortune in there this coming week.