Chapter 14
Even though the crime rate in the Reserve at Horizon Creek is approximately negative two percent, Nate still insisted on walking me home last night. His house is on the same street as my parents’， just a block down. If I squint, I can see his perfectly manicured lawn from my bedroom window.
I tried to sleep when I got home, but my mind was racing. I kept picturing Nate in his tux, getting the bad news, and then having to go share that with their friends and family. It’s not on the same scale as what happened to me, but having your pain broadcast in public isn’t something many people can sympathize with. Knowing that Nate and I had this in common made me feel closer to him.
Made me see him in a different light.
Instead of sleeping like I should’ve, I spent the rest of the night in front of my computer, creating the next scene in HOA**holes. My heroine gets the violation letter from the HOA, and when she arrives at the meeting, she discovers her nemesis next door is actually the president. When he doubles down on her infractions, she vows to beat him at his own game and decides to run against him for the presidency.
Is it a little too familiar to my clusterfuck of a life?
Yes.
But I’m not even a little bit sorry.
I typed until the sun came up and my eyes couldn’t focus any longer. When I finally climbed into my twin-size bed and snuggled into my down comforter, my body ached and my head throbbed with an onslaught of ideas. It’s the best feeling in the world, and after I left LA, it was something I feared I’d never feel again.
I just can’t believe Nate is behind this creative surge.
“Collins!” my mom’s voice shouts from the other side of the door. “Are you ever going to wake up? You slept through waffles and bacon. You never sleep through waffles. Are you feeling okay? Should I call the doctor? Your dad—”
“I’m fine, Mom.” My voice is still thick with sleep. “I was up late writing.”
I regret it as soon as I say it.
“You’re writing again? Anderson!” she shouts down the stairs to my dad. “Colls just said she’s writing again! Isn’t that wonderful?”
I can hear my dad’s muffled voice but can’t make out what he’s saying.
“No. No, I don’t know what she’s writing, just that she’s writing. I already said no! Who cares? You know that computer didn’t even open for the first few weeks she was here. I was so worried. I prayed for this! Praise Jesus!”
I pull my pillow over my head, trying to drown out the one-sided conversation being shouted outside my door. Between the lack of sleep and the intense conversation with Nate, my head can’t handle this. But it doesn’t matter how hard I tug the pillow around my ears; it’s useless against the vocal projection powers of Kimberly Carter.
“Mom.” I roll over and stare at the empty ceiling that once upon a time was covered in posters. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh yes, sorry. I just got so excited. You know how much I love it when you write. I was actually talking to—”
Oh my god.
“Mom. Focus, please.” I cut her off. Nobody can go on side tangents like her . . . except for maybe me, but again, that’s because of my mom. I claim no responsibility for that personality defect. “Did you come up for something?”
“Sheesh. Are you always this snippy after you write?” I can’t see her, but I know her arms are folded and her blue eyes are doing their best attempt at shooting lasers through my door. “All I was coming to tell you was that Ashleigh stopped by. She said the two of you had plans to meet for lunch.”
I roll over and grab my phone off the bedside table. It’s already past noon and I have eleven unread texts and five missed calls. “Shit.”
“Collins Marie!” my scandalized mom scolds me. “I’ll never understand where that mouth of yours came from. I knew LA wasn’t a good place for you.”
“Mom.” I start typing a message to Ashleigh to see if she’ll be around in fifteen minutes. “If you think that the students at Central High School didn’t have the most foul, atrocious language I’ve ever heard, you’re seriously mistaken.”
I mean, the cussing, the mildly inappropriate jokes, and the downright offensive slurs I heard on a daily basis were ten times worse than anything I ever heard in LA. I wrote for daytime television and that’s about as clean as you can get.
“You’re exaggerating,” she huffs out, and I open the door in time to see her cheeks at peak brightness.
“You’re so cute when you get angry, Mom.” I pull her into my arms and kiss her on the cheek. “I’m going to meet Ashleigh soon, but when I get home, I can tell you about my new project if you want. And maybe we can binge whatever show sounds good on HGTV if you’re up for it?”
She hugs me back and her eyes go soft. “I’m always up for spending time with my favorite girl.”
When I was in LA, I was in LA. I didn’t come home to visit as much as I should have. My mom has a borderline phobia of flying, so they only came to California two or three times, and every time, my mom needed a full day of recovery to come out of her Xanax fog. I created a community in LA that I was really proud of. We had Friendsgiving every year and created a family away from family, but being home, I can’t deny how much I’ve missed them.
How much I’ve missed the comfort of being around people who know everything about me and love me unconditionally. I give my mom a hard time, but being here and connecting with her as an adult has been the brightest spot of this entire ordeal.
“Don’t forget to put lipstick on before you go this time.” She breaks the moment with such effectiveness it’s almost impressive. “And maybe let your curls breathe today. A bun for this long can’t be good for your hair.”
“All righty then, this was fun while it lasted.” I pull out of her arms and hurry into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
Then I let my curls breathe and put on lipstick like my mom told me to do.
* * *
? ? ?
I’ll never admit it to any of my supercool, trendy millennial Los Angeles friends, but there’s nothing I love more than a chain restaurant.
Sure, a small, local-owned, organic, vegan bakery is lovely. But you know what else is great? Southwestern egg rolls and a frozen margarita from Chili’s.
“We should do this more often.” I dip my egg roll into the avocado ranch before taking a larger-than-ladylike bite. “Oh, yum.”
Chili’s always freaking hits!
I groan as I chew; my shoulders shimmy and bounce along to the Top 40 pop hit playing quietly on the overhead speakers.
“Now that you’re ‘properly fed and boozed’？”—Ashleigh’s use of air quotes is the only thing more passive-aggressive than her deep sighs and discreet eye rolls as I inspected the menu—“are you going to tell me what happened last night?”
My stomach twists a little—but not enough to deter me from the food at hand—as I think back on last night. I don’t know if it’s from nerves, excitement, or fear, but I do know I can’t tell her everything. Something passed between Nate and me as we confided in each other, and as much as I’ve grown to like Ashleigh, I can’t give her what she wants in this moment.