I drive for three or four hours before deciding it’s time to get off the freeway and find a room for the night. It’s been an emotional day and there’s still a ways to go tomorrow so no point in pushing it right now. There’s a decent-looking hotel that’s part of a chain not too far from the exit. I’m grateful I don’t really have to worry about the price, not that it’s expensive, but if I had been a traditional college student with no job under my belt, it might be.
My dinner options are less exciting. I’ve seen enough of the inside of my car for a while. The last thing I want to do is more driving to find something more interesting than the fast-food options by the exit, and there may not be any, regardless. I’m not sure this is even a town. It has all the hallmarks of a wide spot in the road. So I go with tacos from a drive-up window and take them back to my room.
Curling up on the bed with the TV remote in one hand, I take a big crunchy bite out of the end of one taco, slurping up the escaping beef and cheese with my tongue. Not bad for dinner in a bag. There is of course nothing to watch. The hotel has the basic cable package, but nothing is the least bit interesting. I don’t know why I bother flipping through channels, except I’m feeling restless. In a lot of ways, I’m excited to get on with my life. But I’m dreading the next month of writing. And then there’s telling my dad I’ve been basically lying to him for the last two years when I told him I’d gotten a scholarship so he didn’t have to pay my tuition.
My dad’s a pediatrician in a hospital so he makes decent money, but my mom’s medical bills were outrageous even with insurance. Then my dad’s soft heart and the cost of living in San Diego sucks out the rest. He donates a lot to all the kids’ charities that end up paying his salary, so sometimes I wonder why he doesn’t just work for free. It would cut down on the paperwork, at least in my simplistic view of the world. I was so relieved not to be a burden on him anymore. I know he would never see it that way, but I like my independence. And I value knowing that if something comes up in my life, I can handle it myself.
I miss Ing already. It’s probably too soon to text. I know she was hoping to put at least five hundred miles between her and Justin tonight. I roll my eyes at the thought of her drama-filled gothic romance. At least that’s what it is in her head. I’m not sure what goes on in Justin’s. And I don’t really see how they could ever have a future together.
After clicking through channels continuously for ten minutes, which is a lot like standing in front of an open refrigerator hoping something new will magically appear, I finally settle on a nature special featuring seaweed. It’s almost as exciting as my life, and I let the soothing sound of divers’ air bubbles wash over me as I polish off my tacos. Then I gratefully turn off the TV and the lights and go to bed. I now know more about underwater vegetation than I ever thought I would — and sort of wish I didn’t.
In the morning, I take my time getting showered and dressed. I’m not exactly in a rush, but this hotel room is not really a place that begs you to linger. It’s weird not having a regular schedule.
Even though I’m not settled in a home of my own, I know I only have one deadline and that doesn’t have much to do with whether I get up at seven or ten.
There’s a free (and you can tell why) breakfast buffet in the hotel lobby that I visit before I check out. I’m really hoping for better coffee and something to tide me over until I need a break from driving. But there is no coffee pot, and a quick glance tells me I’ll get travel indigestion if I eat any of the hot food on offer. So I grab two bananas and a cup of yogurt and take that back to my room. I eat one of the bananas and the yogurt while I pack up and double-check that I haven’t forgotten anything. Ten minutes later, I’m back on the freeway. Next stop, home.
* * *
I really need to pee. But I’m so close to my childhood home, I don’t want to delay by stopping. I’ll go when I get there. I make the last turn and admire all the neighbors’ yards. Several people are out tidying up their flower beds and soaking up the late Spring sunshine. It’s almost June now and the last time I was home was Christmas, so it’s nice to see all the flowers blooming and everything looking happy. It’s already warm, not hot by any means, but it will be in a few weeks.
Finally, I arrive at the end of the block and pull into our driveway. There’s a black truck with tinted windows behind my dad’s newer Subaru. That car suits my dad to a T and he will probably drive it for thirty years, only looking perplexed at anyone that suggests he might want to consider a newer model. He gets attached to things and people like that. It’s one of the many reasons we’re close.
But I’ve never seen that truck before, and he didn’t mention expecting any visitors when I talked to him last weekend. Maybe it belongs to a contractor. Dad’s been talking for years about redoing the backyard to make it more usable throughout the year.
I grab my duffle that I’ve packed for the next few days, my backpack, and my purse and head in. The front door is unlocked. Despite my many warnings to Dad about security, it usually is. When I step into the entry I shout, “Dad, I’m home!”
“Rose? We’re on the patio.” I hear faintly.
“Bathroom. Be there in a sec.” I call back louder. I drop my bags in the hall and hit the half-bath that’s tucked below the stairs. Everything in the house is exactly the way it was at Christmas, well minus the decorations, and the trip I made home last summer too. There’s some comfort in that, but I wonder if Dad will ever think to update anything. Maybe I need to offer a makeover in a year or two?
Sighing with the relief of a now-empty bladder, I move my bags out of the way in the hallway and head to the back patio. It’s a lovely space that was built right about when my mom got sick. Dad hasn’t done too much with it. Not nearly what they’d planned to do together. But it’s still relaxing with a table and really comfortable chairs. I hate those little wrought iron things that look really pretty but leave flower-shaped dents in your ass.
My forward momentum comes to an abrupt halt at the sliding glass doors because there, lounging with a beer next to my Dad, is Aiden. The very guy I’m supposed to not think about ever again. And he looks hotter than ever.
He’s a few years younger than Dad; they met in medical school, but Dad got a later start. They look nothing alike.
Dad is well, Dad. He looks like a typical doctor, a little stooped, in his mid-fifties with dark hair and glasses. He has a kind face and a bit of a dad bod. He goes to the gym, but it’s mostly because he occasionally scares himself reading cardiovascular journals.
Aiden went into the military after college and I think he does a thousand situps before he even has a cup of coffee in the morning. And while there’s nothing mean about him, I wouldn’t really call him kind. Stern and sexy, definitely.
He’s taller than Dad, about six-four I think, and has dark hair that still doesn’t have even a hint of silver in it. When I was feeling extra snarky one time I asked him if he dyed it and the perplexed look on his face was priceless. He has these blue eyes that aren’t typical blue at all, and I can never pinpoint why. They always seem to reflect what he’s wearing. So if he has a black shirt on they look sapphire blue, a white shirt and they’re pale ice blue, but if he wears green, then they turn to teal. How can eyes do that? And give me some credit, at least I never asked him that.
Naturally, Aiden’s looking at me since I just appeared in his line of sight. But there’s something different, something assessing in his gaze that has me on edge.
Dad gets up and gives me a hug, “Rose! Did you have a safe trip? Sit down. Do you want a beer?”
“Yes, and no. I’m good, Dad. If I have a beer now, I’ll fall asleep.”
Dad pulls back just enough to look me over with a proud smile and then drops a kiss on the top of my head.
“Hey, Rose?” Aiden calls to me, dragging my attention away. He tosses something my way and I grab it instinctively — a set of car keys. “Before you sit down, there’s a present for you in my truck. Top of my overnight case.”
“Oh?” I do like presents and Aiden gives good ones on the few occasions he’s given me one, nothing big or fancy but always thoughtful. “Do you want me to bring your bag in?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll bring it around later. No need to drag it through the house.” So he’s staying here then and presumably in the back guest room, which is really a glorified shed in the garden. Well, I was only planning to stay for a few days myself so I can probably cut that back to overnight, particularly if Dad has company so he won’t feel lonely at my quick departure.
I head back out to the driveway, curious to see what Aiden got me.