Chapter Two #3
“And furthermore,” Courtney continued, “a wonderful life doesn’t necessarily have to have those things.
Life isn’t a Jane Austen novel. Once you are betrothed, it doesn’t simply mean that life is tied up in a perfect silver box with a ribbon.
Shit happens. Because it’s life. But hey, if you want that fairy tale then you’re going to have to write the damn thing yourself. ”
Eva smiled despite herself. “When did you get so wise?”
“Around the same time I realised my catering business meant I’d be working every weekend for the rest of my life,” Courtney laughed.
“Just because I have the career box checked doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes look at normal people with their weekends off and feel jealous.
Everyone’s searching for something Eves, you’re about to go find it. ”
As Courtney helped her with her suitcase at the curb, she pulled Eva into a fierce hug. “Text me when you land. And Eva?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you dare come back until you’ve had at least one wild adventure. Preferably involving a sexy British man with an accent.”
Eva laughed. “I’m going for self-discovery, not romance.”
“Why not both?” Courtney winked. “Now go. Find yourself. I’ll handle your mom if she shows up at your apartment with a search party. Don’t waste another minute thinking about Richard either, I’ll deal with that crap.”
Inside the terminal, Eva immediately felt out of place. Nashville International was swarming with people who clearly weren’t alone. There were families in matching Disney shirts, business travellers in crisp suits looking importantly at their watches, and then … the bachelorette parties.
Dear God, the bachelorette parties.
They travelled in packs, like bedazzled wildebeests migrating across the Nashville plains.
Every group seemed to have followed the exact same Pinterest board: white cowboy boots, denim shorts (despite it being December), and rhinestone-encrusted cowboy hats.
The brides were easy to spot with their white Stetsons and sashes proclaiming ‘brIDE Y’ALL!
’ and ‘BOOTS, BOOZE & I DO’S’ in glittery script.
One group was already doing tequila shots at the airport bar at 2. 45 p.m.
Eva had always found this charming before—the excited women coming to Nashville for a weekend of honky-tonks and pedal taverns, living out their country music fantasies.
But today, it stung. All these women celebrating impending marriages while she couldn’t even get Richard to stick around for a third Christmas together.
Everyone here was going to something.
She was going away from everything.
Near her gate, a bachelor party was in even worse shape. The guys wore matching tank tops with ‘NASH BASH’ emblazoned across the chest, and one—presumably the groom—was passed out at the bar, his head on the sticky counter while his friends took photos.
“That guy can’t even stand up, and someone’s marrying him,” Eva muttered to herself. “What is wrong with me?”
She felt a twinge of guilt at her uncharacteristic cynicism.
This wasn’t her. She was usually the one defending Nashville’s tourism, explaining to eye-rolling locals how these visitors kept the economy going.
But tonight, the sea of soon-to-be-married strangers felt like the universe rubbing salt in her very fresh wound.
As the plane lifted off the runway that evening, Eva pressed her forehead against the cool window and watched Nashville—now decorated with thousands of Christmas lights—shrink beneath her.
The city looked beautiful from above, a grid of golden light pulsing with holiday spirit.
But Eva wasn’t sad to see it disappear, at least not tonight.
About an hour into the flight, the reality of what she’d done hit her like a physical force. She was on a plane. To London. Alone. With no plan beyond a note from her high school English teacher and a half-remembered dream.
Her breathing quickened. The cabin suddenly felt too small, too warm.
The woman next to her was knitting, the repetitive click of needles somehow both soothing and maddening.
What was she doing? She didn’t know anyone in London.
She hadn’t even booked a hotel. She was about to blow a huge chunk of her savings on a last-minute international trip.
“First time to London?” the knitting woman asked kindly, apparently noticing Eva’s death grip on the armrest.
“Yes,” Eva managed.
“How exciting! Travelling alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good for you,” the woman said, her needles never pausing. “I didn’t take my first solo trip until I was sixty-two. Divorced my husband, sold the house, and went to Italy for a month. Best decision I ever made.”
“Really?” Eva’s breathing slowed slightly.
“Oh yes. There’s something about being alone in a new place. You can’t hide behind anyone else’s expectations. You have to figure out what you actually want.” She glanced at Eva with knowing eyes. “Scary as hell, but worth it.”
Eva nodded, feeling her panic subside. She looked down, eyes clearer now as the woman continued to knit a matching scarf to the Christmas jumper she was wrapped in. She was a complete stranger, but damn it she was right. This was scary. It was also exactly what she needed.
She pulled out her phone and typed a message to save for when she landed:
Eva: Court, made it on the plane. Currently having a mild panic attack but the lady next to me says that’s normal. Thank you for everything. Give Richard’s teddy bear an extra aggressive toss for me.
Eva: Mom, I’m safe. I’m okay. I need this. Please try to understand. I’ll call when I land. I love you.
In her purse was her passport, her wallet, the mistletoe, and surprisingly, a small note Courtney must have slipped in when she wasn’t looking: ‘Be brave. Find your story. Bring me back some British chocolate. C’
The plane banked gently, turning east towards the sunrise she’d meet halfway across the Atlantic. Below her, Nashville faded into darkness.
She was terrified. And for the first time in years, she was breathlessly, gloriously alive.