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CHAPTER 1
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Once upon a time there was a girl who was feeling lost, while her whole life was spread out at her feet. It would be a good way to start a new novel. I’m standing with my hands on my hips and my legs wide, looking down at the situation in front of me.
There are thirty-three boxes standing on the front lawn of my childhood home in Charlington, Arizona. Those thirty-three boxes contain my whole material life. There are some boxes with clothing, some with toiletries, some with little knick-knacks I’ve gathered over the years. Somewhere in those boxes is my diploma from college, and my very first love letter is probably right next to it. Most of the boxes, however, are filled to the brim with my books. I was alright with leaving my coffee table and couch back on the coast with my ex, but my books had to come. You wouldn’t leave your kids behind now, would you?
I look at the pile of boxes on the front lawn and sigh inwardly. They’re standing right behind the white picket fence that my parents had made when I was a child. The boxes are making a mess of the otherwise tidy garden and I’m glad my parents aren’t here to see it. It doesn’t matter that I’m a fully functioning adult at twenty-six, letting my parents down isn’t something I ever want to do.
The guy I hired to drive the small truck all the way from the coast to my parents’ house, Joaqui, was kind enough to help me unload the boxes. But I have a feeling Joaqui had underestimated how heavy fully loaded boxes of books could be, and instead of walking them into my childhood home, he had dumped them right behind the fence. I shouldn’t be bitching about it, I hadn’t hired him to move boxes at all. But after the long drive and being together in the cabin of the truck, we kind of connected. We talked the whole drive about anything and nothing and maybe Joaqui had thought he could get lucky since I noticed some flirt-like behaviour, like cracking jokes as to how our future wedding would look. Since I was in no way looking for love or even a fling after just having gotten out of another relationship, I hadn’t reciprocated the flirting. He might’ve wanted to make a good impression on me by helping me unload my boxes, but I guess having the off chance of his flirting leading somewhere wasn’t enough to bring my boxes all the way inside of the house. I couldn’t really blame him if I was being honest.
I’ve taken three boxes inside already. Two of them were full of clothes and were easy to get inside. The third box I tried was full of books. Now don’t get me wrong, I see myself as a strong woman. But there is only so much my tiny muscles can do and apparently my muscles aren’t cut out for my love of books. Maybe I should’ve considered joining a gym before this move. There’s a light sweat on my back and a slight worry in my mind. How am I going to get all of this inside? I sigh. Well, one box at a time, I figure.
I pick up another box and sigh again when I feel it’s another one full of books. Maybe I can start with a lighter box first? To save my strength and all? I chastise myself and start pulling the box across the lawn, leaving a path of damaged grass in its wake. My dad is very peculiar about his lawn. Something about retirement makes men focus on the length of their grass, of all things. It’s like he doesn’t have anything else to worry about, so he hyper focuses on the green surrounding his house. Maybe it’s the male equivalent of empty nest syndrome. The urge to take care of something. He’s too old to be buying sports cars and my mother would divorce him if he came home with a Porsche, so meticulously tending the lawn it is. When I see the mess I’m making, I start feeling guilty. Anyway, he isn’t going to be home for the foreseeable future and I’m going to make sure I’ll fix his lawn before he gets home. I push the guilt aside and go back to work. So I keep pulling the box through the grass, ruining it in its path and leaving it for future Morgan to worry about. I make it to the porch and have to actually lift the box to get it inside.
“Fucking crap on toast, that’s heavy,” I grunt while lifting the box after wiping a strand of hair out of my face.
“Morgan! Sweetie, you’re home!” Miss Patterson yells, when she suddenly appears on the sidewalk. She’s dressed in her powerwalking outfit, and is walking with Miss Frieda. The two of them are the local gossip elite and are so old they probably came over on the Mayflower. Miss Patterson lives a couple of houses down the road and has been in my life for as long as I can remember. She used to babysit me when I was little, giving me candy to make me complacent, and we’ve been on good terms ever since. The whole town has always been in my life. That’s what you get when it’s so small and everybody knows everyone.
“Hi Miss Patterson, Miss Frieda,” I answer while I put the box down in the hall and huff. “I’m so glad to be back!”
“We missed you child,” Miss Frieda says with warmth in her creaky voice. I can practically smell the menthol cigarettes the old hag loves to smoke from over here, even though it’s impossible at this distance.
I genuinely smile at the old lady. She gives me a mischievous grin and winks at me. There are a few constants in my life: Coming home to this town and its people - Miss Patterson and Miss Frieda in particular - and being welcomed with open arms is one of them. I’ve been back for a few visits over the years since I’ve moved away, and each time it has felt like coming home. These two ladies always make me feel like I haven’t been gone at all.
“Now what in Pete’s name are you doing with these boxes, dear? If your dad sees what you’re doing to his lawn, he’ll have a coronary,” Miss Patterson says while judging my situation. Her mouth looks like a cat’s ass, and it makes the terrible fuchsia lipstick she has been wearing for the last twenty five years stand out even more.
“Don’t worry, I’m just getting my boxes inside. I’ll fix the lawn before Dad gets back. All he has to worry about at this moment is if he wants pasta or pizza for dinner in beautiful Italy.”
My old neighbor makes an approving sound when she hears that.
“Best to get everything inside as soon as possible,” Miss Frieda says while eyeing the sky. “Looks like it’s about to rain.” I look up and see several dark clouds. Not at all what’s to be expected in Arizona this time of year, and definitely not a good sign. Maybe that’s one of the constants in life too, you can always expect it to rain when it would be the most inconvenient time ever.
“Well, I’d best get going then if that’s the case,” I answer, trying to get back to work and get rid of the old bitties. “Have a good walk ladies! And don’t overdo the booze this afternoon.”
Miss Patterson chuckles as she gives me a wave and they start walking again.
I walk over to pick out another box to slave myself to get it inside, when a black truck stops at the neighbor’s house. A man with a blonde topknot steps out. He’s looking good in his jeans and motorcycle boots. The sides of his head are shaven, making his hairdo seem like a look. Somehow I don’t really like men with buns, as they’re usually high maintenance, at least as far as my experience goes. Living on the coast for years with all kinds of hipsters had made me dislike the hairstyle and the people who went along with it. But this guy’s pulling it off. I check him out a little, as I stare at his broad physique and friendly demeanor. He’s big too, tall. I like that. He disappears inside the neighbor’s house without knocking, leaving me to wonder what he’s going to do. When I realise I’m lost in thought, I shake my attention away from the gorgeous stranger and my eyes fall on the pile of boxes again. My stomach sinks.
Just a few more to go.
Half an hour later it starts to pour. It’s like someone has opened a hatch and all the water has started falling out at once. The dam is broken, the Kraken is released, and everything is soaked within seconds.
“Fuck. Crap! Shit. No! Fuckfuckfuck!” I yell while trying to get all the boxes inside at once. But the urgency to get all my boxes inside the house doesn’t magically make them weigh any less than they did before. Getting soaked with rainwater is actually making them even more heavy I figure. I try picking up two boxes at once, but they don’t even get ready for liftoff. I do manage to pull something in my back with that stupid move, so it wasn’t totally useless.
My clothes are soaked and drops run over my face. They fall from my nose onto the lawn, which I now definitely don’t have to water tonight. I let out some sort of frustrated war cry while pulling the next box to the house. It is the classic setting for a meltdown and to be honest, I’m halfway there.
“Need some help?” someone calls out. I can’t see who it is on account of being bent over the particularly heavy box I was trying to get to move, but I’m glad someone is here no matter who it is. I’m so angry at my stupid boxes. Maybe I should consider going digital, just to spite them. One box with a little e-reader sounds like a dream right now, if you ask me.
“Yes, I need help!” I yell back. “I need the fucking cavalry to be brought in!”
I try to pull the box too hard, lose my footing in the process, topple over and land on my ass in the wet grass.
“Fuck!”
“Here, get up,” a voice says, and when I look up I see O. He grabs my hand and pulls me up. He looks at me with a gorgeous and infectious smile. Oliver, better known as O, is and has been my next-door neighbor forever. The all-American boy next door, with hazel hair and equally hazel eyes and one of those smiles you usually only see in an ad for a new toothpaste. He’s been in my life for as long as I can remember. There are pictures of our naked butts in the backyard when we were toddlers in one of the photobooks my mom keeps in the house. That’s how long we’ve known each other. He also happens to be the very first crush I’ve ever had, making me feel things I’d only ever read about in books before. But I’ve never acted on the crush and we’ve only ever been friends.
I’m standing there, looking like a lost little puppy with probably a nasty grass stain on my ass, just staring at him. I haven’t seen him in forever and it’s still like I know every fibre of his being. He looks at me with friendly eyes, before aiming his gaze at the lawn and the source of my incoming meltdown.
