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If I truly found this situation funny, I would laugh, but I’m so over it that the only answer his statement warrants is me saying, “No.”
Turning away from him, I pick up a blanket placed along the back of my couch and fold it. Most of the things I’m going to need for my new home I’ve ordered online to be delivered, but I do have a dozen medium-sized boxes or so that I’ve packed with personal items from here.
He lets out another sigh. “You do realize sooner or later you’ll have to marry. Running off to your lake house doesn’t negate the fact you have responsibilities. Why won’t you meet someone I think would be a good fit for you?”
“Winston, no one you pick will ever be a good fit for me. They are a good fit for you, and I’m tired of you pushing your own agendas onto me. I will never marry if for no other reason than to spite all of you.”
It’s not that I don’t want to get married. I might one day, but with the constant pressure from him and my family, it’s just not worth it right now. In their eyes, no one will ever be good enough unless they’re handpicked, and unfortunately, I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with more of their disapproving glares and subtle failure reminders.
Which is completely ridiculous.
I’m even more grateful now that this new home is in North Carolina. Discovering that they hate it there means they will never visit. Not that I really expect them to. I’ve been on my own for a long time.
“Forever the disappointment.”
“Forever the doormat.”
Turning, he shakes his head as he walks toward the door. I used to feel sorry for him, but I realized he’s doing exactly what he wants, with who he wants. He thrives on maintaining the image, the fake image, whereas real people don’t care. I’ve never understood what the allure is.
“You will be here for our parents’ fall soiree,” he says as he reaches the door.
I can’t tell if this is a question or a statement, not that it matters.
“Have I missed one yet?”
Glancing down at the boxes, he frowns again. “I hope you at least hired someone to help you with these.”
And then he’s gone.
The quiet settles around me as I slowly remove the unwanted bricks. I don’t want to be closed off, but how can I not be when I’m surrounded by people like him?
No, I did not hire anyone to help me carry a few boxes. I can do it myself. He could too, but what would that say to the outsiders? Outsiders who choose to see what they want versus taking the time to discover what is real. After all, salt looks like sugar, and sometimes not all that glitters is gold.
2
CORA
Have you ever done something so outlandish, it isn’t until after all the dust has settled that you take a look in the mirror and ask yourself, “What did I just do?”
That’s me right now as I stand in the entryway of my new mountain home and stare at the mess before me. Well, it isn’t actually a mess. All the boxes of the brand-new home goods I ordered need to be unwrapped and set up or put away. Buying things one at a time, it’s easy not to realize how many things there actually are, and well, my new house is overflowing.
The first time I came to Horizons Valley with Emma and Avery, I thought the little lake town was quaint and cute to visit. Emma’s parents live in Atlanta, and she grew up coming here in the summers, so when she invited Avery and me, of course we said yes to the week getaway. The second time we came, I was excited to return because we had created some amazing music in the basement of Emma’s parents’ house. I was also fond of the previous summer’s memories of backyard barbecues, renting a boat and waterskiing on the lake, and spending our nights at a country bar called Smokey’s. But the third time we came, it felt a lot like coming home.
It’s fascinating to me how someone can live somewhere their whole life, but after only a few short trips somewhere else, that somewhere else changes everything. But then again, maybe it’s about the people, my people, who now mostly live here and not in New York City, where we’re from.
Closing the door behind me, I breathe in the smell of pine, fresh paint, and freedom. In New York, I have my own place, which I bought with my own money, but being in the city, I’ve always felt like I was still under my parents’ thumb. Oddly enough, I feel one hundred percent free here.
Free and on the mountain that overlooks the town and the lake. Avery and Emma now live on the lake, and I see the appeal one hundred percent, but I wanted more. More land, more space, just more. More like the dream of my painting, with a garden overflowing with fruits, vegetables, and flowers. So when I saw this listing pop up, even though there’s only one other person who lives up here, I knew it had to be mine.
My new house was built in the early 1900s. In the mid-1950s, it was renovated and updated. It has white siding, a brick chimney that runs from the ground up, and a large wraparound porch. It’s only about twenty-five hundred square feet on the inside, and the original floor plan has the rooms squared off instead of the space being open. There’s one large bedroom upstairs with a bathroom and two downstairs that share a bathroom in the hall. One room I plan on maintaining for guests, although I don’t know who will be coming to visit, and the other is my office and where I plan on keeping anything related to music. Except for my favorite cello, it has its own home in the living room.
Prior to moving in, I did have contractors come and remove the wall between the kitchen and the living space. They changed out the appliances and the countertop, put an island up between the two rooms, helped me by removing old carpet and wallpaper, painted, polished, and updated the bathrooms. While it’s all still a work in progress, I’m excited to finally be here and moving in.
And that’s when I scan over all the boxes in the front rooms again. Ash, Avery’s husband, has been stopping by once a day since I told everyone that I’d bought the house over the Fourth of July weekend to oversee the construction, be here for furniture delivery, and bring in the packages. I’m grateful to him. I’m also appreciative he left it somewhat organized, as the boxes are stacked in rows.
From my back pocket, my phone rings. Avery’s calling. I make my way to my new couch, which is still covered in plastic, and smile.
“Are you here yet?” she asks as I flop down and let out a huge exhale.
