Okay, fine, it is pretty funny. But she could at least pretend to feel bad.
She must sense my silence as annoyance because her tone changes as she says, “You need a reboot, babe. Get out of that city. Come to the West Coast and recharge your soul. Trust me, it’ll be your Eat, Pray, Love moment.”
“And where would I live?”
“With me. You can crash on the futon in my office. It’ll be like old times.”
“I’m a little old to be sleeping on a futon.”
“You’re a little old to be drunk-texting your ex.”
Thank goodness she can’t see the face I’m making at her correct yet unappreciated statement.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Approaching my building, I rest the phone on my shoulder as I take the keys from my purse and open the front door.
“Think about it. Offer is always on the table. Now, let me get some sleep because some people have to get up and feed children in the morning.”
I push the front door open and start the climb to my third-floor walk-up. “You only have one child, and she could probably raise herself since she’s so independent.”
“True,” she concedes and then adds, “Come to Napa. You’ll love it. Okay, that’s the last time I’m asking…today.”
We hang up the phone just as I step into my apartment. Falling back on the couch, my body relaxes, and the memories I wanted to forget start to surface.
I met Steven in Paris when I was twenty-three-years-old. I was taking a year off after graduation to “find myself.” My parents are heavy supporters of traveling by yourself for a year before you start the grind of day-to-day adult life. They’re kind of hippie-ish that way.
There I was, in the City of Lights, eating escargot and sipping Bordeaux when I spotted him sitting at a table nearby. He was alone and reading Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. Even if he wasn’t American, I knew he at least spoke English based on the edition in his hands. He had curly sandy hair and cherub cheeks and looked like a nice enough guy. Lonely for company, I walked up to his table and asked him about the book. I quickly learned he was from Michigan and, like me, was backpacking through Europe.
After a long evening of wine and watching the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkle, we got to know each other. By the end of the night we agreed to meet up the next day and then the next and the next.
Over six weeks we traveled across Europe together. We rode a gondola in Venice, drank Spaten at Oktoberfest, saw the windmills of Amsterdam, and tried to make the guards of Buckingham Palace smile. When it came time for Steven to travel back to the states, we decided we couldn’t be apart. We eloped at City Hall in New York City and I followed him to his hometown of Clawson.
I fell in-love with Steven in six weeks and six-months later I was packing my bags and heading home to New York. It was the first and only time my heart was broken. Shortly after moving to Clawson, I learned that the Steven I fell in-love with was not the real-life version of him. I fell for the fairy tale. The truth was, we didn’t have anything in common.
He was from an affluent family, me a modest upbringing.
He wanted a wife who would stay home and cook dinner. I can’t scramble an egg.
He hated classical music and didn’t see the cello as a viable career.
He loved hunting, took offense when I wouldn’t eat his kill and couldn’t appreciate my passion for animals.
And to top it off, he said he didn’t want children.
We fought about everything and nothing. Our days were filled with bitterness and contempt. When I finally left, he never followed.
He was the first person I pictured growing old with. My first romance, my first love, and my first marriage. Seeing him happy with a family made me sad for the life I once thought we were going to have together.
One I thought I’d have for myself by now.
Maybe Naomi is right. I need to try something new.
What is wrong with me?
I can’t quit my job and just haul ass across the country. Yeah, sure, I was fired from my weekend gig, but I still have a day job. I teach at the Juliette Academy, a music school in the city. I can’t just not be there when school starts next month…can I?
I am just about to get up and take the longest shower known to mankind when my phone chimes. I have a new text message from a number I don’t recognize. When I open it, I literally gasp at the photo of something I unfortunately recognize too well.
I am currently looking at the hammer in all its morning glory and a text message.
Ian: Mjolnir is looking for someone who is worthy and summons you back with its powers.
I don’t understand Thor references, but I have a pretty good idea Mjolnir is Ian’s penis.
I need to get out of this city.
I’ve officially lost my mind.
chapter ONE
When I boarded a flight from New York to San Francisco, I was excited to hit the Reset button on my life. What I wasn’t prepared for was the Reset button to be so damn cold.
Jesus H. Christ, this place is freezing!
Wearing a sundress and a light cardigan, I hug my arms around my body and wrap my bare legs across each other in an attempt to find warmth. Looking around me at the people wearing jeans, I see I’m the only one who didn’t get the cold memo.
A red car pulls up to the curb with a familiar face smiling from behind the wheel.
“You’re here!” Naomi opens the driver’s door and comes jogging around the front of the car to greet me.
She looks exactly the same as she did when we were kids. Dark hair, always a mess yet perfect for her casual attitude and appearance, hangs long and curly around her oval-shaped face. She is wearing black cargo pants and a tight white T-shirt. She hasn’t gained a pound in ten years, and it’s easy to see she’s been keeping up with her Pilates.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” I say, wrapping my arms around her, hugging tightly, as only best friends do. I let out a sigh. “I think I’m having a quarter-life crisis.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Naomi gives me a pat on the back. Then, she holds me by the shoulders at arm’s length. “You’re too old for that. It’s more like a tri-life crisis.”
She winks as I give her the stink eye.
“Hi, Crystal!”
I look over to the backseat at the precocious eight-year-old with silky dark hair hanging out the window.
“Hello, Scarlet. You’ve gotten so big! I keep picturing you as this itty-bitty thing.”
“The average child between the ages of six and twelve grows approximately two and a half inches per year. It would be scientifically impossible for me to shrink,” Scarlet states matter-of-factly.
“Scar, what did we just talk about?” Naomi chastises.
This causes Scarlet to roll her eyes and talk from the back of her throat, “No one likes a know-it-all.”
Naomi’s mouth tightens as her brows go up in that way moms do when they are reprimanding their children. Even though she’s been a mom for over half a decade, it still baffles me that the girl who used to climb out of her building, using the fire escape, to party at clubs is rearing a daughter.
“Come on, let’s get you home.” Naomi grabs my suitcases and puts them in the trunk along with my cello.
I open the passenger door and climb in. Thank goodness for that because the hair on my legs was starting to grow from the goose bumps I was forming out here. I rub my hands together and blow hot air into them.