Nearly half an hour has passed and I still haven’t replied to my sister’s email. I don’t know what to say. My heart skips a beat in my chest butterflies swarm in my stomach. Closing my eyes, I flop back on my bed, mulling everything over.
I left home—after only being back for a few months—because of the way things went down. My sister’s fiancé made a move on me. And I got blamed for it. I’d had too much to drink that night. My dress was too tight. Too short. I showed too much cleavage.
It was all my fault. I couldn’t stay there and watch things unfold. Only a few days after I confronted Peter about the shit he pulled, he proposed to my sister. And my lack of support further proved my “jealousy.”
I’ve hardly spoken to my mother, father, or sister since I’ve come to stay with Grandpa in Eastwood, and I can only imagine what they’d say about the life I’ve made for myself here. They’d probably be horrified to find out I haven’t stepped foot inside a country club or a five-star restaurant—and have no intention to do so. I prefer the slow, hot summer days in rural Indiana, where I get to sit on the front porch with a—gasp—bottle of three-dollar wine in my hand as I watch tractors and horse trailers pulled by big pickup trucks going up and down the road all day.
I’ve gained a few pounds since I’ve moved here. Cut my own hair a time or two. And I really like going to the farmer’s market every Tuesday morning. This is far from the life I imagined I’d have, but that life was laid out before me with little choice of my own.
Get into a prestigious college? Check. I was a legacy and my father played golf with the Dean of Admissions. I graduated with a business degree and decent grades. Phase one of my life was complete. Now I needed to land an aristocrat asshole of a boyfriend to eventually settle down with and spend our summers in the Hamptons. Roger was tolerable at first, but that ended quickly. I went to Canada before I told my parents we ended things.
I close my eyes and let out a breath. My whole life has been mapped out with the road paved in front of me. I don’t know what it’s like to stray from the path and figure out who I am. It’s a strange and harrowing feeling to have this emptiness inside me, longing to meet the person I’m meant to be.
It’s almost as if I miss myself, which doesn’t make sense at all, I know.
But what I do know is for each time I’ve fallen, I’ve gotten back up, just like Grandpa told me to do. Only, once I’m on my feet I’m left teetering, ready to fall with the next gust of wind. He told me I need to find something to hold onto, something to ground myself, and then put down roots.
I don’t know how to do that.
“Fuck you,” I say to my computer.
“Are you chatting with an online boyfriend?” Grandpa says, walking past my open bedroom door.
“Hah.” I push myself up and raise one eyebrow. “If only.” I look back at the computer and shake my head. “It’s just another job rejection.” The lie leaves my lips before I have a chance to really think about it. All I know is I don’t want to bring up Diana’s wedding yet. Grandpa has been at odds with my mother since the day she ran off and married my father, who put Roger’s asshole-ness to shame.
Though I’m sure I really do have a rejection email in my inbox somewhere. I’m either overqualified by having a degree and a little bit of grad school under my belt, or I’m lacking experience since I only have a degree and a bit of grad school under my belt. It’s an infuriating process that makes me want to give up looking for a job entirely.
“You already have a job.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t want to bartend the rest of my life.”
Grandpa leans against the doorframe. “Why not?”
I open my mouth but can’t come up with a legitimate reason right now. “I, uh, I’d like better hours. I work late a lot.”
“But you’re a night owl, just like me.”
“True. I don’t know.” Shaking my head, I open my computer again. “I guess I just thought I’d be doing something more fulfilling in my life by now. I’m almost thirty and, not that I don’t love living here, it’s just that, well, I’m living here.”
Grandpa gives me a wink. “Feel free to move your shit to the barn then.”
I laugh and look back at the computer, heart lurching when I see Diana’s email glowing on the screen before me.