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Bea
The dinner is eaten, the table is clear, the kitchen counters clean and the dishwasher is whirring. The scent of rosemary still hangs over the kitchen and dusk is settling in fast outside. If I don’t get out of the house now, I won’t go anywhere tonight.
I give the sink one last wipe down with the dish towel, set it to dry on the edge of the sink and turn to mom, who is arranging the Tupperware with the leftovers in the fridge, a task she’s done and redone a couple of times already. Which means she’s nervous. Another good reason for me to go back to my condo tonight.
“Ok, well, I’m off,” I tell her and she turns sharply, the motion seemingly making her a little dizzy because she catches her balance on the back of the chair closest to her.
“You sure?” she asks slightly breathlessly.
I nod and smile wide and try to find the least sassy thing to say. Wasn’t she just recommending I go see a shrink less than two hours ago?
“It’s time for me to stand on my own two feet, Mom,” I tell her.
She nods softly and comes closer like she wants to hug me, but she settles for brushing a curl that’s hanging over my eye away from my face. We have the same deep auburn shade of hair, and just as wildly curly
“You’ll be fine, Bea,” she says and smiles softly. “You’re strong, just like your father was.”
What a time to bring up daddy. I was eight when he was killed and the only vivid memory I have of him is one time, when I was six or seven he’d take me for a ride on his Harley, just around the block, but the wind in my hair and the freedom and his booming laugh when he saw how much I enjoyed it is something I still feel reverberating through me if I think hard enough. It’s one of the best memories I have and one a very few of my dad.
“I bet I wouldn’t be so scared of everything if he was still around,” I mutter and my mother whimpers so softly I feel it more than hear it. That’s the whole reason we don’t speak of him very much anymore. She still misses him, I know that. But life goes on.
She clears her throat. “Your daddy lived a dangerous life.”
And she’s not wrong about that at all. He was a member of an outlaw biker gang, and my mom was a preacher’s daughter with a wild streak. They shouldn’t go well together, but they did. And sadly it didn’t last very long.
“I’ll be fine, I’ll call you tomorrow,” I promise, already planning to get very drunk and have a very good time tonight.
For my dad as much as for myself. I’m too young to shut myself up.
Upstairs in my room, I only pack my toothbrush and the rest of my toiletries, since I have to go home and get ready anyway. Mom is still messing with the Tupperware in the kitchen as I come back downstairs, wish both her and Rick goodnight and leave the house.
As I start my car, I distinctly hear a Harley roar to life, and it’s the best sign that I’m on the right path I’ve ever gotten. My father is watching over me, so what can go wrong now?
I reverse out of the driveway, rolling down the window because I’m ready to feel the wind in my hair again.
The screeching of breaks and a man’s angry yell of, “Watch the fuck out!” make me hit the brakes so hard my head very nearly collides with the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, did I hit you?” I ask while hyperventilating.
I don’t remember getting out of the car, but here I am on the sidewalk, standing in front of the hottest guy I’ve laid eyes on in a while. He’s straddling his motorcycle, gripping the handles so hard every single muscle in his arms is standing out. And boy, does he have a lot of those. Good thing he’s wearing a t-shirt. But it’s his eyes that really draw me in, deep green, glowing like some jewel under the evening lights.
He froze after seeing me too, but recovered quicker, giving me a very interested up and down look, and making me wish I was wearing something nicer than my leggings and oversized, washed out Metallica t-shirt.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
The edge of his lips rises up into a very suggestive grin. “Yeah. But only because it’s you.” He gives me another one of those up and down looks that I feel deep in my core.
“In the future, you should look in the rearview before peeling out the driveway like that.”
“You’re… you’re Debbie’s son, right?” I say. “The soldier?”
“Marine, but yeah,” he says. “Ashton… Ash.”
I take the hand he’s offering and shake it. The moment our skin touches a jolt of fire flashes through me and my mind turns completely blank.
“Bea,” I stutter. “You don’t remember me at all?”
He narrows his eyes at me, still holding my hand, which I like very much. But I don’t like the blank look in his eyes as he tries to figure out if he knows me or not.
