“Thank you for your question,” Mr. Bridgewerth starts before settling into his seat. “After tonight, Nathanial Adams will be the interim board president. Because of certain bylaws, we must hold an election before that can be made official. You will all receive information on how to cast your vote soon.”
I’m not sure if being a writer with a minimal amount of friends failed to tip anyone off, but I’m not big on peopling. I much prefer the sheets to the streets and would happily spend all my days curled up in bed with a good book or binge-watching my new favorite show.
My involvement in causes I care about usually ends at a standard donation of funds. Tonight is the closest I’ve ever come to participating in an uprising. Sitting in a room as mild-mannered suburbanites unleash their wrath has made me feel more alive than I’ve felt since my world came crashing down around me.
So maybe that’s why, upon hearing that Nate—the person least in need of extra power—is going to get promoted to president, I’m on my feet before I can think better of it.
“Will you also be sending out information on how to run for HOA president?” I ask into the madness.
The room goes silent as all attention shifts to me.
Including Nate’s. He scowls.
“Miss Carter,” Nate says, “while we appreciate your interest in our community, I’m not sure this a commitment you’ve given proper thought to.”
If he could’ve managed not to be such a patronizing jerk for two seconds, maybe I would’ve reconsidered this rash decision. But since Nate is incapable of not being a total jackass, he only adds fuel to my fire.
“On the contrary.” I lift my chin and put my hands on my hips—the most lethal of stances. “I’ve been sitting here all night, listening as our neighbors have come to you with clear and serious concerns. They’re telling you that they are unhappy with the leadership and, quite frankly, the overreach of the current HOA board. You’ve had all night to stand up for our neighbors, but you’ve sat silently until now. Why is that? Can you please explain why you’re more concerned about having an opponent for the position of president than you are about helping Mr. Griffin and Mrs. Long?”
The energy in the room, which had only begun to settle moments ago, amps right back up.
“She’s right,” Mr. Griffin shouts, still gesturing wildly. “Why don’t you want her to run? Isn’t this America?”
Never has “isn’t this America” been used in my defense, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t basking in it. It’s impossible to beat back my smug smile as Nate works to deflect the crowd’s growing ire.
“No, Mr. Griffin, I mean . . . yes.” Nate stumbles over his words. “This is America. I don’t mind Miss Carter running, but—”
“But what?” Mrs. Long yells in my defense. “You don’t think she can do a good job? That you care more? Isn’t that what elections are for?”
“You’re absolutely correct. I misspoke and I would love nothing more than to encourage anyone who cares about our community to be as involved as they’d like.” Nate’s tone is properly apologetic, but if the firm set of his jaw says anything, it’s that beneath the surface, he’s absolutely stewing. “I’m very sorry, Miss Carter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Adams.” I pause for a moment to swallow the laughter bubbling up in the back of my throat before I respond. “I’m sure you will make a formidable opponent.”
“Well then.” Mr. Bridgewerth takes back control of the meeting. “Miss Carter and anyone else looking to run for the position of board president, please locate me after the meeting and I’ll give you the information you need for the election. The rest of you, please keep an eye out in your mailbox for voting instructions in the coming weeks.”
As polite applause rattles around us and the meeting moves forward, Nate and I maintain eye contact, neither wanting to be the first to look away. We may seem cordial to everyone watching, but between Nate and me? We both know what we’re really saying.
The small smiles on our faces and glimmers in our eyes declare war. And this time it’s not going to end quietly. With an unspoken promise, we’re vowing to do whatever it takes.
Because this time, the winner takes all.
Or at least the HOA.
Chapter 9
Part of me expected a parking lot showdown with Nate after I announced my candidacy for HOA president. I was a little disappointed after I left from filling out the paperwork and was only met with a jubilant Ashleigh. Sparring with Nate was ninety-nine percent of the reason I signed up. If he was going to retreat peacefully into the night, what even was the point of all this?
My closed laptop mocked me from my desk as I tossed and turned all night long. The reality of what I just volunteered myself for came crashing down on me before I could reach my REM cycle. As if I don’t have a thousand more pressing issues to tackle, now I get to add learning neighborhood bylaws to my plate.
“Collins!” My dad shouts from somewhere in the house. “The plants aren’t going to water themselves!”
I roll over and grab my phone. Seven o’clock in the morning.
Retirement is ruining my father.
“Coming!” I yell back even though I want to snuggle deeper into the duvet they bought me for college.
I open my morning text message from my mom to see what Bible verse she sent me today. Philippians.
Classic.
Pulling on my favorite sweatshirt, I opt to go braless again before slipping into my most worn-in leggings, where the thread is just hanging on at the seams, before heading downstairs.
When I enter the kitchen, I’m met with the familiar sight of Anderson and Kimberly sitting at the kitchen table, one hand on their coffee cups, the other entangled with each other. Gross.
“Good morning, parentals,” I greet them both, trying to ignore the growing void of loneliness threatening to swallow me whole. Who cares if my future only includes my mom’s wall art, cats, and monthly HOA meetings? Not me.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” my mom says. “There’s coffee on the counter if you want any. I bought that creamer you like; it’s on the second shelf in the fridge.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Getting my favorite creamer from the store is a small gesture, but unbidden tears spring to my eyes. “That was really thoughtful.”
When I dated Peter, I was so distracted by his gorgeous eyes and thick head of hair, I didn’t even notice that he never did small things like this. I was always going out of my way to let him know I cared, but instead of expecting the same treatment, I accepted crumbs.
Less than crumbs, actually.
Peter gave me nothing for years. He used me and abused the trust I had in him. And worse? I allowed it, not even thinking to demand better until he turned my world upside down.
My parents may wake me up at seven and force me to watch Survivor with them every week, but it’s nice to be reminded what it feels like to be loved and appreciated.
“Oh please, it’s just creamer.” She waves me off, not even a tiny bit aware of how moved I am. “Though, I did have to have quite the conversation with the woman at checkout. She was asking if I was lactose intolerant. She couldn’t understand why I was getting almond milk creamer instead of the real stuff.”