And Then You
Page 2
And then I decided to include research on Emily Brontë.
Her idea of a love story was pissing me the hell off. Don’t get me wrong—I think Wuthering Heights is a fantastic book. But I just can’t get behind the love story. It doesn’t fit with the rest of my research. In fact, it disproves my research in a way, because it goes to show that love transverses death, and death is certainly not something I consider a happily ever after.
I walk briskly to my car on the edge of campus. I graduate in a week, and then I’m done. I spent almost seven years here, having gotten my bachelor’s and now master’s degrees in English Literature. It’s petrifying, knowing I’m thrusting myself out into the real world with a shit degree.
There’s no denying it. English Literature is kind of an imprudent degree. It’s a great degree to have if I want to teach, but I have serious issues with the American school system, so I’ve been toying with the idea of teaching abroad. My friend Mia taught in Abu Dhabi for a year and loved it. I honestly have no idea where I’ll end up in the real world, but my boyfriend, Dan, has already promised me an interview at the publishing house where he works. It’s not ideal, but finding a job even remotely related to my degree is shocking. I wonder if Dan would move to Abu Dhabi with me?
I turn on the car and one of my favorite songs starts up. Naïve by The Kooks. I instinctively start to dance while I drive. I think about texting Dan, but it might be nice to surprise him. I drive down I-5 and turn onto East Olive Drive, and then right on Thirteenth Avenue. I look for a parking spot. I don’t love this neighborhood, but Dan and I are hesitant to leave, because the rent is cheap and it’s close to everything. I find a spot and parallel park.
I gather my backpack and walk quickly to our apartment building. I’m giddy to surprise Dan. If anyone can make me feel better about my data comparing and contrasting the Brontë sisters, it’s Dan. He’ll be happy I’m home. And I’m in a serious baking mood, so I start to concoct an idea for cupcakes based on the ingredients we have in our fridge. It’ll be a cupcake experiment. Maybe I should’ve gone to culinary school…
Speaking of Dan, my mind starts to race when I think about our talk last night. He was very serious, and he kept mentioning our future together, and how he was starting to realize what he wanted out of life. I had to interrupt him though, and our talk got put on hold. I skip the rest of the way to our building, happy and in love. Maybe he’ll continue the conversation tonight?
I don’t want to say the “P” word out loud, but Violet thinks he’s going to make it official soon. And God, I want that so badly.
I riffle through my purse for my keys, finally finding them and unlocking the door. The lights are off, and it smells like a perfumery. That’s weird. I stop and look around.
“Hello?” I call out.
He must be asleep in the bedroom. I set my purse down on the couch and skip over to the bedroom door.
That’s when I hear a giggle.
A female giggle.
What?
My heart stops, and I try to compose myself. Maybe Violet and Marcus are over. Sometimes they all hang out in the bedroom—it’s the only place we have a television. I have to be rational. My first instinct is always irrationality, and I always worry for nothing. This is nothing.
Maybe.
I slowly open the bedroom door.
And I scream.
“Evi!” Dan yells, hopping out of bed naked—naked. Mia, one of my best friends, wraps herself in the six-hundred-thread-count sheet she helped me pick out at Target. He quickly throws on a pair of jeans. “What—what are you doing here?” he asks incredulously, as if I’m the one doing something wrong here. As if I’m interrupting him. Mia just sighs exasperatedly and throws the comforter over her head.
“What the fuck is going on?” I screech. I feel the tears start to spring from my eyes. “Seriously, Dan?”
He walks over to me, but I back up. I feel my heart racing, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening.
“Evi?” Mia says, getting out of bed and pulling the sheet off with her to cover herself up.
Those fucking sheets from Target. I’m about to cut a bitch. And not just any bitch. One of my best friends! I thought stuff like this only happened in movies…
“Get your whore ass out of my house. Now!” I scream, lunging for her. Dan runs over and holds me back. I fight against him, beating my fists on his chiseled chest. The chest I helped sculpt by spotting him at the gym. And I hated the gym!
All I want to do right now is kick Mia, punch Mia, pummel Mia… kill Dan.
“Evi,” Dan warns. “Don’t.”
I swing around. He looks nonplussed by the whole situation.
“Please tell me this is just some kind of misunderstanding?” The minute I say it, I want to levitate out of my body, point a finger down at myself, and cackle. Because it’s the stupidest question I think I’ve ever asked. Of course it’s not a misunderstanding.
“No. It’s not a misunderstanding,” he answers, and he goes over to Mia and stands next to her. “We’re falling in love, Evi.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I feel the bile start to rise up my esophagus, and I know I’m going to vomit soon. I run to the bathroom and proceed to throw up my dinner. Deep down, I know I’ll never be able to eat fettuccine alfredo again, and not just because I’m throwing it up, but also because now it’ll always be the thing I ate the night Dan cheated. He doesn’t even come in to see if I’m okay. And he always comes in to hold my hair back. Always. I clutch the toilet and cry—heavy, heaving sobs. I flush and stand, wash my face off, and start to collect my things like a big girl.
When I’m done, I walk back into the bedroom, ignoring my cheating boyfriend and my slutty friend. I throw everything into a suitcase, angrily grabbing a few pairs of clothes and shoes as Mia sits on the bed with Dan. They both watch me curiously, as if I’m about to have a psychotic break.
And that’s when I see it. Dan brushes a strand of hair away from Mia’s face, and she smiles at him.
Smiles.
I try to suppress the vomit threatening to come up again, and instead I turn to face Dan.
“I’ll come back for my things tomorrow.” I’m honestly too shocked to understand what is happening, but some sort of survival instinct is telling me to get the hell out of here right now.
“Evi…” Dan pats the bed next to him. I see Mia get up and walk over to the closet, where her clothes lie in a pile on the floor. Barf. She probably did a striptease for Dan. She was always vain about her body.
I hate her.
She eyes me sympathetically, but doesn’t say a word.
“Sit, Evi,” Dan commands. Like a weakling, I go. But it’s only because I need more of an explanation. He is my life, my other half. We’ve been partners for seven years. I can’t believe he’s willing to throw it all away for slutty Mia.
I like that nickname, and I vow to use it from now on.
I reluctantly go to sit next to him, though I’m torn. I want to hug him and have him tell me everything is going to be okay. But I also want to stand up and kick him swiftly in the nuts.
“How could you?” I whisper.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t plan it. It just… happened. I was going to tell you soon. I tried to tell you last night.”
Ah, the “P” word was actually a “C” word. Cheater!
“You want to be with her?” I ask meekly. My voice is barely audible. I can’t believe I’m saying these words to him. To Dan.
“Yes.”
“Well… good. Because I’m moving out,” I say petulantly, standing up.
“Thank you,” he replies, and I have to keep myself from clocking him in the jaw.
Thank you?
I brush the tears away as I storm past him to get my suitcase.
“I’ll box your stuff up and bring it to your parents’ house t
omorrow,” he says.
“This is it? Seriously?”
He just shrugs and looks down guiltily.
“Fuck you, Dan. Fuck you.”
“Evi…” Dan sidles over to me.
“You broke me. Both of you.”
I cup my mouth with my hand to muffle my sobs as I walk out to my car, suitcase in tow.
There are so many things I want to say, do, hit… but right now, I just need to get away.
He loves her.
He loves Mia.
Not me.
Maybe happily ever afters are overrated.
Two.
- September 2014 -
Babysitter Needed ASAP!
Looking for a live-in nanny to start ASAP. Pays very well. Experience with children preferred. Non-boring. References required. Please email for more information.
Nicholas Wilder
Nick.wilder@hotmail.com
From: “Evi Halle”
To: “Nicholas Wilder”
Date: September 4, 2014 9:02 a.m. PST
Subject: Non-boring babysitting.
Hello Mr. Wilder,
My name is Evianna Halle, and I’m 25 years old. I saw the posting about your need for a live-in nanny, and I’m very interested. I’ve emailed a LOT of people, so I hope you respond to this. I also feel the need to state that I am non-boring (am I reading that right?). If so, I think we’ll get along just fine.
I don’t have a lot of experience with children, but you’ll find that I learn fast. I have a younger brother, so while I don’t have “professional” experience, I do have a lot of personal experience with children. Well, one child, but he’s pretty high-maintenance, so I think I can handle anything. Except poop. I don’t think I can handle poop.
Sorry, was that inappropriate? I’ve sent so many emails; it’s possible that I’m losing my mind.
You probably want to know more about me, right? Or not… I’ve probably scared you off by this point. Right now I am living with my parents… long story involving an evil ex-boyfriend. The “live-in” part of this job posting pleases me for obvious reasons.
I feel like I should delete the last two sentences, but since this is the 1,458,987th email I’ve sent, I’m going to leave it. I have a feeling all of my job applications are being sucked up into the Cloud anyways. Off topic… but what is the Cloud? It sounds so ominous.
I just graduated from the University of Washington with my Master’s in English Literature. As expected, there are exactly zero job prospects for me, hence my email to you.
I swear I am a normal person looking for a normal job. If, by any chance, you are still interested in hiring me, I would be eternally grateful. I also like to bake cupcakes, so you’d have that as a bonus.
Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you. Hopefully.
Evi Halle
From: “Evi Halle”
To: “Nicholas Wilder”
Date: September 4, 2014 9:04 a.m. PST
Subject: Please ignore the last email!
Dear Mr. Wilder,
I apologize for my lack of professionalism in my previous email. Just know that I am a highly respectable and responsible adult who is more than capable of caring for your child(ren).
Thank you,
Evi Halle
P.S. If my day-to-day responsibilities do, in fact, include poop, that’s fine also.
P.P.S. My ex isn’t so bad. He’s not evil. Like, he won’t be coming after me with a knife or anything. He just cheated on me and broke my heart. But I’m fine. I am 100 percent emotionally stable. I swear.
From: “Evi Halle”
To: “Nicholas Wilder”
Date: September 4, 2014 9:06 a.m. PST
Subject: OMG… PLEASE DON’T JUDGE ME.
Dear Mr. Wilder,
Again… apologies. I can’t believe I said that. Please ignore my last email. I’ve totally made this awkward now. I have a bad case of electronic word vomit, especially in situations like this.
I hope you’ll still consider me. I’m the kind of person who really shines in person, not via email.
Obviously.
Best,
Evi Halle
From: “Nicholas Wilder”
To: “Evi Halle”
Date: September 4, 2014 9:10 a.m. PST
Subject: Interview
Dear Ms. Halle,
Thank you for sending what happened to be the three most entertaining emails of my workday thus far. We’d be happy to bring you in for an interview. I promise you, there is no fecal matter involved in your day-to-day responsibilities. My mother-in-law will be interviewing you, as she’s the one who’s been looking after Bria, my four-year-old daughter, for the last year.
You’re lucky–I happen to love cupcakes. And you happen to sound non-boring.
Don’t even get me started on the “Cloud.”
Nick Wilder
P.S. Your ex sounds like a tool.
Three.
Evianna
“I don’t care what Dan does in his free time, Vi. He can screw whomever he pleases. I just hope he gets genital warts.”
Violet chuckles over the phone, and I try to ignore the feeling of dread whenever I talk about Dan.
“I don’t know what I saw, Ev. It could’ve been anyone…” Her silence on the other end suggests that she did actually see him with her.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
The mantra replays in my head, and I swallow loudly. I can’t talk about this anymore.
“Vi, I have to go. Can I call you after my interview?”
“Yeah. When is it again?”
“Eight.”
“Isn’t that a little late for an interview?”
“I thought so too, but maybe they’re conducting it after Bria goes to bed…” Violet laughs lightly. “What?”
“Nothing. I mean… it’s just… you? Looking after a child?”
“Excuse me,” I say accusingly. “I am perfectly capable of looking after Elijah, so I have no doubts I will shine as a caretaker to a stranger.”
“He’s your brother. And he’s twelve. It doesn’t count if you two sit around and play video games all day. That’s not exactly babysitting.”
I glare at her over the phone.
“You’re wrong.”
“Whatever, Evi. Call me when you’re done. Where do they live again?”
“West Bellevue.”
Vi blows out a long, slow whistle. “They’re rich?”
“I don’t know,” I say, slightly annoyed. “I don’t know anything about them, other than the fact that Mr. Wilder likes cupcakes.”
“What about the mom?”
“Dunno. He just said I’d be interviewing with his mother-in-law.”
“Hmm.” I know her sounds of disapproval, and this is definitely one of them. “Want me to go with you?”
I sigh. “No. Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Be safe, Ev. Don’t get into any strange cars.” She’s so paranoid about the most illogical things. In her mind, everyone is out to get us, and if they’re not, they’re thinking about it.
“Promise,” I whisper before ending the call.
I set my phone face down on my nightstand and look around the sparsely decorated room. It’s still weird to be back here, even though I’ve been living back with my parents since the night three months ago.
At twenty-five, it’s slightly embarrassing to admit I live with my parents again. I sit up and stretch, pulling my arms over my head and moving from side to side. One of my hands hits the wall. It’s definitely smaller in here than I remember.
Elijah bangs on my door.
“Dinner’s ready!”
It startles me, and when I go to open the door, he’s already gone.
I skip down the carpeted stairs, taking two at a time.
“Evianna, you’re going to fall and break your neck one of these days,” my mom chastises from the bottom of the stairs.
“No, I’m not,” I counter. “It’s carpet. It’s soft. Besides, I’m not going to be living here for very much longer,” I say as I make my way to the dinner table. My mother just clucks her tongue condemningly.
“Need a ride to your interview?” my dad asks while chewing his asparagus loudly.
“No, I’ll drive myself,” I say. “Thanks, though.”
“You’re really going on an interview to be a babysitter?” Elijah asks, and I give him a confused look. “I mean… you’ll be watching someone’s baby,” he says, as if that’ll explain my confusion. I cock my head to the side and cross my arms.
“What are you insinuating?” I say sharply. He begins to eat his chicken, feigning ignorance. “Elijah, what do you mean?” I hiss. He points to his full mouth.
Nice try.
“I think what your brother is trying to say is that we’re just… surprised,” my mother adds.
Elijah finishes chewing.
“Yeah. I mean, you’re a great sister. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s not like you should be babysitting for anyone else. You gave me ice cream for dinner the other night, and you told me that I could stay up as late as I wanted, as long as I didn’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“Elijah!” I yell, glaring at him. “What is the point of a secret when you go and blab about it two days later?” I hiss scathingly. “From now on, it’s broccoli for dinner and a nine o’clock bedtime.” My mom and dad just sit there, smiling. “Do you agree with Elijah?” I say, slightly hurt that my own brother doesn’t think I’m a good babysitter.