Ten minutes later when I walk in the front door of my home, my parents’ house, I hear my mom call out from the kitchen. “Margaret, is that you?”
Rolling my eyes, I chuckle to myself. Of course, it’s me. If it’s after eight o’clock on any given night, my father is in his recliner in the living room and my mother is puttering around the house. The only other person who could just walk through our front door is me.
“Yes,” I call out. “I’m home.”
I’m it—my parents’ only child.
They tried to get pregnant for fifteen years and had given up hope. When it finally happened, they were shocked to say the least. My mother went to her doctor every week for almost three months so they could guarantee her she was still pregnant.
To say they’ve doted on me my entire life would be an understatement.
“How was your class?” she asks, sounds of pots and pans banging around following her question. My mother is a multitasker. She’s always busy. If she’s not cooking and cleaning, she’s helping out at the store. And when she’s not doing those things, she’s volunteering at the church or participating in a community project.
She’s a real go-getter, to put it in my father’s words.
“It was great,” I say, finally making my way into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, I smile at the sight that greets me. Along the counter are freshly washed jars lined up and ready for some sort of jam or jelly. Whatever it is, I know it will be the best I’ve ever tasted. She’s a jam-making genius. With her beautiful brown hair tied up on the top of her head in a scarf, she looks like one of those fifties housewives.
When she looks up, cheeks flushed and looking happier than a bird with a French fry, her smile grows even wider. That’s my mom, she always has a smile for me. “Did you learn something new?” she asks. “Meet anyone?”
My stomach flutters and I try to quell the blush that is trying to creep up on my cheeks. “Uh, yeah… I did. It was really fun.”
She cocks her head, trying to read between the lines, always using her mother’s intuition.
“I’m going to go back next week.”
“That’s good, sweetie. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Glancing down at myself, I pull at the T-shirt and feel the need to shower. Even though it wasn’t an intense workout, I definitely worked up a sweat. “I’m heading upstairs,” I tell her.
“Okay, honey,” she says, going on about her business.
When I get to my room, I hang my bag on the hook by my door and flop onto my bed. My mind is still reeling with the way my body responded to Vali. I’ve never felt anything like that. The rush of… heat and electricity… I can’t wrap my head around it.
I knew he was handsome.
I knew I had a bit of a crush on him, as much of a crush as you can have from a distance.
But seeing him up close and personal… wow. That’s all I can say. For a person who’s usually good with her words, I’m lost for an explanation. It’s not that I’m immune to the male species. Of course, I notice if a handsome man comes into the store or I pass them on the street. I mean, I noticed Vali’s brothers long before he showed his gorgeous face around Green Valley. But no one has ever caught my attention like Vali Erickson.
In this week’s Trixie and Tess article, I referred to the brothers as eye candy. But Vali is so much more than that. He’s strong and astute, aware of his surroundings with a confidence that oozes from his pores.
And I’m totally smitten.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and allow myself a few moments to relish in today’s events.
Before I pull myself out of bed and go shower, I grab my laptop and open up my email. If I don’t get out some of this pent-up excitement, I’ll never sleep.
So, I went to the self-defense class tonight and HE WAS THERE.
And he touched me.
And I threw him to the ground.
*SMH*
But still, he touched me and I felt THINGS. And it was amazing and confusing and oh my God what am I doing? Also, why can’t you live closer because I could really use someone to talk to face-to-face.
Oh, on that note. I think I *might’ve* made a friend.
Hope everything is good there.
Maggie
Closing my laptop, I toss it on my bed and go shower, trying to not think of Vali and failing miserably, so much that I accidentally put conditioner on my loofa and get an extra moisturizing treatment unintentionally.
After I’m dressed in leggings and a big T-shirt with my hair combed out and air drying, I climb back up on my bed and open the laptop back up to work on my article for next week, but I see a notification for my inbox. Everly’s response is short: TELL ME MORE.
Shooting her an email back, I tell her all the details, giving her a play-by-play of the entire self-defense class and the interactions with Tempest and Frankie.
This would probably be better over the phone, but I know how you are about your secret life, so I’ll do my best to express all of my thoughts and feelings in this email.
First, I need you to pull up a chair and listen closely.
I chuckle and shake my head. So many times over the last thirteen years I’ve wished she was my next-door neighbor or a girl in Green Valley. Shoot, even Tennessee would be nice. At least then I might’ve had a chance to meet her in person over the years. From the first email, when we were matched up during a homeschool project, I knew she was a kindred spirit. Well, it was a homeschool project for me. Everly, on the other hand, went to public school, and thanks to her, I got a firsthand account of how the other half lived.
Like she can see me, I pull the screen closer and snuggle down into my pillows.
Okay, I need you to know everything I say comes from a place of love. I would never let anyone say these things to you, but it’s okay coming from me because I’m more like a bestie-sister than anything. One of these days we’re going to meet and realize we were separated at birth.
I stop reading to snort. Yeah, not even. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of Everly and the only thing similar about us is our height and hair color. Other than those two things, we’re polar opposites. But maybe we could be fraternal twins… who are a few years apart. She’s also uber-successful and owns a wedding planning business in New Orleans and still manages to do these secretive, invite-only matchmaking sessions with the elite crowd. Basically, she’s every Instagram influencer I follow, but also my friend.
You’re twenty-four years old.
You’re an adult.
Again, I say this in love, but you need to stop living in your bubble and get out there and LIVE! I’m super proud of you for taking this self-defense class and for getting out of your comfort zone. But you can’t wait for happiness to land in your lap. When you email me tomorrow, I expect something juicy or dangerous (not too dangerous… safe-dangerous) or daring! Go paint Green Valley red, or green, or whatever color suits your fancy. You mentioned overhearing them talking about going to Genie’s… do that. Put on some tight jeans and a cute sweater… swipe on some lipstick and GET OUT THERE and get you a man… or in this case, a Viking.
XOXO,
your Nola Bestie
My heart is pounding when I get to the end of the email. Ever is right, I know she is. But I can’t do that. I can’t get up at… Pausing, I glance at my phone and check the time. It’s eight forty-five. I can’t get up at eight forty-five, get dressed, and tell my mom and dad I’ll be back later.