CHAPTER THREE | London
CHAPTER THREE
London
“Yeah?” I grumble, my brain still clouded with sleep as someone knocks on my bedroom door, quite aggressively, might I add.
“Think maybe you’re going to get out of bed today?” My father’s voice filters through the door.
I glance over at the alarm clock on my nightstand to see it’s already after eleven in the morning. I groan, rolling to my back.
“Not if I can help it,” I call back seconds before the door creaks open.
That’s the thing about older homes—everything creaks. And I do mean everything. Made sneaking out as a teenager a pretty impossible feat, not that I still didn’t try a time or two.
I don’t have time to object before my dad appears in the doorway, still dressed in his church clothes. Sundays are the rare occasion when my dad actually dresses up. Any other day, you won’t find him in anything but his work coveralls or a faded T-shirt and lounge pants.
“I didn’t say you could come in.” I feel the need to point out.
“Pretty sure this is my house, and I can enter any room I please.” His voice is light, casual, but there’s no missing the undertone of something more serious.
“Is there something you needed?”
“Well, since you asked. What I need is for my daughter to stop hiding out in this room and figure out what she’s going to do with her life now that she’s home.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You’ve been home for more than two weeks and you haven’t left this house once.”
“I’m reacclimating.”
“No, you’re hiding. And while I know that coming back here has been hard for you, you’re here now. It’s time to brush off the remnants of what you lost and start focusing on what you still stand to gain.”
“Stand to gain?” My voice takes on an edge. “How can I gain anything when I’ve lost everything?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re too old for that.” He makes his way farther into the room and plops down in the reading chair he bought me for my twelfth birthday. It’s held up surprisingly well, given how much it’s been used.
“Well, I’m too old to be living at home with Mommy and Daddy too and yet, here I am,” I say bitterly.
“A temporary arrangement until you can get back on your feet.”
“Is that your way of telling me you’re ready for me to leave?”
“Of course not.” He shakes his head, the lines around his mouth becoming more prominent.
“You can stay here as long as you need. Forever if that’s what makes you happy.
But what you cannot do is hide in this house and live off of me and your mother because you’re too afraid to face the real world.
You have to get out there. Figure out your next move. Get a job.”
“Yeah, because there are so many job opportunities in Wren Cove. I guess I could always go be a cashier at the new gas station in town. I’m sure my former classmates would just love that.” The thought makes me want to shrivel up into a hole and die.
“There is no shame in working at a gas station or anywhere else, for that matter. At least then you’d be a contributing member of society and able to make a living for yourself.”
“A living? Yeah, okay.” I push myself upright in bed, resting my back against the headboard. “What kind of living is doing something I hate?” I cross my arms in front of myself.
“You think I love what I do all the time? No, but it pays the bills and puts food on the table, and at the end of the day, that’s what matters.
Not how flashy something is or how good it makes you look, but that you can survive on it.
” He shoves a chunk of dark hair, peppered with subtle streaks of gray, off his forehead.
“I don’t want to just survive. I want to thrive,” I fire back, a little too aggressively if we’re being honest, but my father doesn’t even flinch.
There’s a reason he’s the one talking to me and not my mother, because I can’t guilt my way out of something with him like I can with her.
She’d come in here and tell me to get a job, I’d tear up and say I’m not ready, and she’d hug me and tell me to take my time. Not my father, though. He’s a loving, fair man, but he is not someone who is easily manipulated.
“And you’re going to accomplish that rotting in this room?” He gestures around the small space whose walls are still the same baby pink he painted them when I was eight.
“Maybe.” I huff.
“We both know if you don’t get out of this house, you’re going to keep finding reasons to never leave.
We gave you time to get settled. More than enough time.
But that ends now. You have an appointment tomorrow morning at the temp agency.
I talked to Patty, and she said she had a handful of jobs available that could be a good fit. ”
“Patty Stewart?”
“The very same.”
“You realize she’s Cat Stewart’s mom, right?”
“It’s a small town. I’m aware of what children belong to whom, yes.”
“So you know that the second I leave that place, she’ll be calling her daughter, who will then proceed to spread gossip all over town that I’m back and seeking employment at a temp agency of all places.”
“One, I think you overestimate how much people care what you’re doing—no offense. And two, the temp agency is a good way to get back into the work force without having to commit to anything full time.”
“Dad...” I open my mouth in an attempt to talk my way out of this but immediately snap it closed when he pins me with that look of his.
The one that says this is not up for discussion, and I will do what he says or else.
I’ve seen that look many times over the course of my life, especially during my teenage years.
“Proverbs 29:25 tells us that fear of man will prove to be a snare.”
“Please do not quote Bible scripture to me right now.” I groan.
“But whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe.” He finishes like I didn’t even speak. “You should care more about what God thinks than what anyone in town thinks.”
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to remind myself of that when everyone is snickering and talking about me behind my back. Hell, they probably already are.”
“Maybe if you came to church... Started leaning on your faith a little more.”
“I think any God that would allow me to be hit by a cab and have all of my dreams go up in flames is no God I want to know.”
“Did you ever consider that maybe God doesn’t give you what you want but has a way of placing you exactly where you’re meant to be?”
“And you think this is where I’m meant to be? Living with my parents? Losing everything I’ve spent my whole life training for?”
“You may not be able to see it now, but maybe one day you’ll see things differently. Maybe one day you’ll look back on this time and see that there was purpose in it all.”
“Doubtful.”
“This will be good for you. Getting a job, getting back out there.” He stands, clearly over my groaning, self-pitying mess of a self.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” I disagree. “And what if I refuse?” I ask once his back is facing me.
“Then I suppose you’ll be looking for a new place to live,” he says over his shoulder as he reaches the doorway.
“Seriously? You’d kick me out?”
“Make no mistake, London.” He turns fully to face me.
“This is not a free ride. Your mother and I urged you to come home so we could help you get on your feet, not so we could support you. It’s time.
Whether you agree or not is irrelevant. If you want to continue to live here, you will get a job.
” He says it with a finality I know better than to argue with.
“Now get dressed. The least you can do today is join your mother and me for lunch. She’s making your favorite. ”
“Grilled cheese and tomato bisque?” I perk up at that.
My father grins, giving me a soft nod. “I’ll see you downstairs in twenty.” With that, he steps into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him.
“CAN I JUST SAY IT REALLY is so good to see you,” Patty says, her nails clacking loudly against the keyboard in front of her as she types something I can’t see from where I’m seated on the opposite side of her desk.
I tried really hard to pump myself up for this interview, if you even want to call it that—feels more like facing a firing squad—but no matter how long I took making sure I looked perfect, it did nothing to hype me up internally.
In fact, I feel even worse about this now than I did before I walked into this drab office.
If I weren’t facing eviction and ensuing homelessness, I most certainly would not be sitting here right now, forcing a fake smile for a woman I never cared for.
Her daughter and I were friends through elementary school and junior high, but we stopped hanging out in high school when she started spreading rumors about me—the most egregious one being that I tried coming on to her and that I was only dating Penn to cover up the fact that I was secretly a lesbian who was in love with her.
Even if I were into girls, Cat Stewart would be my last choice for a girlfriend. Big hair. Big boobs. An even bigger mouth. Nothing but drama. Needless to say, my life got a lot better after I ended our friendship.
But we were friends once upon a time, and as such, I spent a lot of time at her house over the years, meaning I spent a lot of time around Patty, and if there’s one thing I picked up on, even as a kid, it’s that the apple did not fall far from the tree.
“You as well,” I finally respond after a long beat. “How’s Cat doing? I haven’t seen her in so long.”
I may not like this woman or her daughter, but I’m nothing if not a performer. I didn’t just do dance growing up; I did theater as well, and if I can portray a perfect depiction of Juliet dying from poison, I can pretend I actually care about this woman and her daughter for a few short minutes.
“Oh, she’s doing amazing. She’s a nurse now. Graduated a couple of years ago. She’s been working over at Everett Memorial in Harrisburg.”
“That’s awesome.” My cheeks hurt from holding a smile that’s anything but genuine. “Is she married? Seeing anyone?”