Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Eva
Fall has 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.
As I drive toward my apartment, dozens 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 starting to set in after its long absence.
The rain feels so incredible. California has been in another one of its long droughts, and our state has barely seen rain in four long years.
I catch myself sighing contentedly 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 sometimes seems never ending. 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 units, 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 the 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 town’s charm.
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 a big glass of red wine.
Long car rides deserve big glasses of wine.
Although, as I watch the crimson liquid fill the glass, I can’t help but wonder what some good bourbon tastes like.
Shoving the thought from my mind, and the memory of the one man it 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 to what I’m looking at.
As much as I try, I can’t stop thinking of last night and Noah.
It’s driving me crazy. He’s driving me crazy.
But, what’s even more crazy is the thought that it doesn’t matter.
I could go on thinking about him day after day after day, but it won’t change the fact that I’ll 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. Thanks to Gwen.
Or maybe I actually should thank her. Noah was a beautiful distraction. One I can’t afford. One I 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 from a young age, I decided early on I would never let a man get in the way of accomplishing my dreams, and I’m not about to start now. I’m so close to what I’ve always wanted, I cannot afford any distractions, no matter how tempting and delicious they might be.
I’m not going to let a guy come along now and stop me from obtaining my one goal: moving home.
After graduating 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 away the dream that I have had ever since my parents moved me up north. Not even a southern boy with charm for days that has my head spinning, and my knees buckling.
Chemistry leads to feelings, which leads to sex. And sex typically leads to commitment, which obviously means a relationship, which leads to love and more feelings which screws up my plans and my future.
Luckily, Noah doesn’t live anywhere near here, which is a plus because the feelings 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. Love is not part of the plan.
But maybe …
Just maybe …
I let myself entertain the maybes just for a second and wonder how I might find him or if I ever could …
Should I stalk him on social? Search all the Noah’s in the great 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. Best to keep my distance and my sanity.
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?
“Um, Hi! Noah was it? Creepy bar stalker here from California! Um, how are ya?”
Or …
“Hey, Noah. It’s me, you know the girl you promised to show things to in the south. Things that would make me second guess any other plan I had in life? So, whatcha’ doing next week?”
Laughing, I have to admit as loony 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, Eva. Distance. Keep your damn head straight.
I’m rattled out of my thoughts as my phone rings on the counter and makes me jump. Glancing at the caller ID, I see it’s my mother and roll my eyes.
“Hey, Mom,” I say as I reluctantly pick up my phone.
Normally, I have a great relationship with my mother, though 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.
I should have ignored the call and played it like I got home too late to attend. 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.
“Eva! Are you home yet? Please tell me you’re home,” my mother begins frantically interrogating me.
“Yes, Mother, I just walked in the door,” I snap.
“You just walked in the door? Good Lord, Eva! 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, Eva Anne Monroe!”
I know I’m in trouble. My full name only comes out when my mother wants to scold me—and this time, it’s 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 to argue, but my mother cuts me off. “No you most certainly will not,” she yells. “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, Eva!”
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 hiss.
I cringe at the idea of Trevor and me actually ever having 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’s because he could be near me any chance he got.
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. The more I pulled away, the angrier and more possessive he got. I left him at the end of summer with a broken heart that 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 shudder from 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, Eva 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 and contemplate 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 just 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 even moved.
Little annoyances like this 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 fireplace, 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 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 has obviously left me feeling feisty.
Maybe letting her think there is something between me and Trevor could be fun.
Even though I don’t like Trevor, I do 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’ve had much luck in that department; my mother hasn’t stopped trying in twenty-seven years.
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 to 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 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 me.
I wonder what he would think of my tight black dress and “come fuck me” heels.
Would it make him act a little less gentleman like?
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 laugh at myself.
The brief fantasy makes me smile, though. 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 to make my way 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.