low platform bed (shades of I’m exhausted, so I have no idea what color it actually is).
I lay there feeling my muscles begin to relax, and listened to the house settling around me. There was a strong wind blowing tonight, whistling through the trees outside the window and scuttling leaves across the patio. It was a lonely sound, but I didn’t feel lonely. I was alone in a strange bed in a semistrange house in a semistrange town, but there was still that hum of electricity running under my skin that I’d felt ever since my dad suggested coming up here.
As I rolled over on my pillow, my thoughts were suddenly filled with images of blue eyes. I smiled to myself in the dark and imagined what it might be like to date again. It was way too soon right now, but one day it’d be an option.
And there’s that word again: option. The world was full of possibilities, and meeting handsome men in restaurants was just one.
I allowed one more moment of dreamy over the blue-eyes guy in the mirror, and then hummed myself to sleep. Sinatra, of course.
chapter four
The next morning I woke up to not one, not two, not even three, but four texts from my mother. Which proves how much she didn’t want to actually speak to me, since texting was something she hated to do. And was terrible at—she never really grasped the concept as a medium of communication. Case in point . . .
Text #1:
Dear ChLOE!
Text #2:
Your father tells ME YOU HAVE GONE TO MONTEREY. HOW VERY grownup of youDON’T YOU THINK PART OF BEING A GROWNUP MIGHT BE NOT LETTINGYOUR PARENTS GIVE YOU ROOMand bonobo??????%
Text #3:
Pleasefilloutachangeof
addressformatthePOST
OFFICESOTHATYOUR
MAILWILLSTARTGOING
STRAIGHTTOYOUAND
youcanstartdoingthe
verygrownupexerciseof
answeringyourownsorryyou
didn’tgetmarriedCARDS)
Text #4:
FROM: YOUR MOTHER
She had large thumbs. Pretty sure ROOMand bonobo??????% meant room and board, but I can’t swear to that. But she did have a point, and as soon as I had some breakfast, I intended to begin addressing her concerns. The room I wasn’t even going to dignify. This house was way too cool to not enjoy. So stick that in your tea cozy. But the bonobo ? That I should, and would take care of on my own.
I had some money squirreled away from my days on the pageant circuit, although it wasn’t much. Even when you’re winning, which I did the last few years, it was mostly scholarship money, not a ton of cash payouts. But I’d saved what I could, and would be able to get by for a while. I knew what my mother was saying:don’t take your father’s money. Funny, she had zero problem with that when it came to her alimony checks . . .
And my father would happily fork it over to keep me happy, but that wasn’t the point. I’d felt funny about jumping from my parents’ payroll over to my husband’s. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried to get a job over the years; I had. But my mother wanted me to focus on school, and then pageants, and then I was engaged. My year as Miss Golden State had taken place my senior year of college, and then once I graduated I was still volunteering extensively for the therapy dog charity. And once the wedding planning began, that became all consuming. I’d attempted to broach the subject several times to Charles about working once I was married, but it wasn’t something he was too keen on. So my résumé, other than countless titles and work for my charitable organizations, was thin at best.
I’d been thinking more and more about the conversation I’d had with Lou Fiorello the other day.
“We’re finally ready to open a second Our Gang location, and we’re starting to scout possible sites. We know we want to go north, somewhere like Santa Cruz, Salinas, maybe even as far north as San Jose.”
“That’s so great!” I said. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have a location up there. Same business model as the one you have now?”
“Yeah yeah, pretty much the same,” Lou said.
I lay there feeling my muscles begin to relax, and listened to the house settling around me. There was a strong wind blowing tonight, whistling through the trees outside the window and scuttling leaves across the patio. It was a lonely sound, but I didn’t feel lonely. I was alone in a strange bed in a semistrange house in a semistrange town, but there was still that hum of electricity running under my skin that I’d felt ever since my dad suggested coming up here.
As I rolled over on my pillow, my thoughts were suddenly filled with images of blue eyes. I smiled to myself in the dark and imagined what it might be like to date again. It was way too soon right now, but one day it’d be an option.
And there’s that word again: option. The world was full of possibilities, and meeting handsome men in restaurants was just one.
I allowed one more moment of dreamy over the blue-eyes guy in the mirror, and then hummed myself to sleep. Sinatra, of course.
chapter four
The next morning I woke up to not one, not two, not even three, but four texts from my mother. Which proves how much she didn’t want to actually speak to me, since texting was something she hated to do. And was terrible at—she never really grasped the concept as a medium of communication. Case in point . . .
Text #1:
Dear ChLOE!
Text #2:
Your father tells ME YOU HAVE GONE TO MONTEREY. HOW VERY grownup of youDON’T YOU THINK PART OF BEING A GROWNUP MIGHT BE NOT LETTINGYOUR PARENTS GIVE YOU ROOMand bonobo??????%
Text #3:
Pleasefilloutachangeof
addressformatthePOST
OFFICESOTHATYOUR
MAILWILLSTARTGOING
STRAIGHTTOYOUAND
youcanstartdoingthe
verygrownupexerciseof
answeringyourownsorryyou
didn’tgetmarriedCARDS)
Text #4:
FROM: YOUR MOTHER
She had large thumbs. Pretty sure ROOMand bonobo??????% meant room and board, but I can’t swear to that. But she did have a point, and as soon as I had some breakfast, I intended to begin addressing her concerns. The room I wasn’t even going to dignify. This house was way too cool to not enjoy. So stick that in your tea cozy. But the bonobo ? That I should, and would take care of on my own.
I had some money squirreled away from my days on the pageant circuit, although it wasn’t much. Even when you’re winning, which I did the last few years, it was mostly scholarship money, not a ton of cash payouts. But I’d saved what I could, and would be able to get by for a while. I knew what my mother was saying:don’t take your father’s money. Funny, she had zero problem with that when it came to her alimony checks . . .
And my father would happily fork it over to keep me happy, but that wasn’t the point. I’d felt funny about jumping from my parents’ payroll over to my husband’s. And it wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried to get a job over the years; I had. But my mother wanted me to focus on school, and then pageants, and then I was engaged. My year as Miss Golden State had taken place my senior year of college, and then once I graduated I was still volunteering extensively for the therapy dog charity. And once the wedding planning began, that became all consuming. I’d attempted to broach the subject several times to Charles about working once I was married, but it wasn’t something he was too keen on. So my résumé, other than countless titles and work for my charitable organizations, was thin at best.
I’d been thinking more and more about the conversation I’d had with Lou Fiorello the other day.
“We’re finally ready to open a second Our Gang location, and we’re starting to scout possible sites. We know we want to go north, somewhere like Santa Cruz, Salinas, maybe even as far north as San Jose.”
“That’s so great!” I said. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have a location up there. Same business model as the one you have now?”
“Yeah yeah, pretty much the same,” Lou said.
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