It looked like rain. Great. Damn you Tom Summers! You and your lies! It is not sunny with a gentle breeze. It is chilly with swirling dark clouds and a considerable squall. Weatherman my foot! You get me all excited for a nice day and look what I get. Freaking storm clouds. Christian better make this worth my while. He better propose. If I make another trip up her for nothing hell will break loose.
AHHHH finally! My exit. MINE! Oh joy, oh rapture. GOD yes! No, NO! GET OUT OF MY WAY YOU FUCKING TRUCKER! I sped into the exit ramp affectively cutting him off. He honks and I flip him to bird. Yes! SIX HOURS OVER, DONE! HA-HA! I rolled the window down letting the cool mountain air fill the car and my lungs. Cold and crisp and sweet; I nearly cried. I was a giddy with relief. I hate driving though the mountains. I have terrible luck and I just wait for that popped tire.
The borough of Trent Summit smiled at me. I mean really smiled. The place was absolutely charming. Victorian houses nestled upon delicately rolling hills and evergreen forests. Main Street with its flowery boutiques and family owned businesses. The little tots with their book bags bouncing as they run off the school bus to meet mommy in her curlers and robe. It was, in a way, good to be back. I'm a city gal, plain and simple I come with all that it implies. I hate bugs, (I mean I HATE them) dirt is dirty, yay for stable electricity, go city water, party equals high heels and wine not a tractor and a six-pack. My soon-to-be-fiancée teases that I'm high maintenance. He is incorrect; I'm civilized. I was born and raised in small middle class town not far from here. I grew up, I got a degree, I got out. Just because I prefer go to a gallery opening instead of cow tipping does not make me high maintenance.
I turned onto Oak Way and made my way up his very steep hill. Also known as Hell if you drive a stick like myself. So up, up I go and around the corner to adjacent Caliber Street, I park six houses in at a tri-color Victorian. It's a warm yellow, with white trim and blue shutters. Lovely. I hit the E-brake and enjoy the silence. Finally. Home. Well not for me. I mean Christian wants to keep his family home, for sort of Vacation House and while I understand the sentiment I refuse to make this trip annually. I step out, carefully. His drive is chipped and the LAST thing I want to do after that burly-ass drive is break a heel. I grab my purse from the passenger seat and make my way up the stoop. The door is open and I let myself in.
"Christian, honey? I'm here." I call. The inside of his childhood home is as darling as the outside. Wood floors, crystal chandeliers, dark wood furniture, earth toned walls, its really quite stunning. Apparently it was more 'country' before his parents moved out and closer to their Antique store, that uh-hem specialized in Jewelry, I know how to pick 'em don't I, it gets better, wait. I'd only been here once before and the last time I didn't come inside. After Christian moved in he updated the place a little or in my opinion a lot. Painted and repaired, modernized the electronics and appliances, even did electrical and pipe work. Lets say he put a big old shiny penny into this place. I was against it but who am I to say? Soft voices and footfalls told me somebody was home.
"I'll be right down, Dee." A male voice i.e. Christian, called. I tossed my purse onto the table in the middle of the foyer and lifted my left foot up to start undoing my heel. A second pair of feet coming down the stairs surprised me and left it on. As I straighten a pair of hiking boots with a tall, dark, and handsome man came into a view followed by a small mousy looking woman in red tennis shoes. Now I don't care who you are or how much you trust your man, when you come home, or wherever, and find him alone, even with a homely broad like this. You fall into some animalistic rage, or maybe a lesser more sensible variation of that. But, you're never just curious, or contemplative, you're ready to cut a bitch. Me? I did that rage thing.
I was ready to beat Miss, overalls and ponytail with a rock. I sized her up. She was young, maybe three years my junior and pretty in a plain way. Upturned nose, average eyes, medium cheekbones, plump cheeks, little rounded chin. Something eased inside of me when I realized I was prettier then her, petty yes but fuck it, it made me feel better. She was a bit flushed, she better hope it was from the running. Her standard brown hair was drifting out of her pony a bit, and I say drifting because her hair was too thin to fall or burst out of anything. Her overalls where stained from what looking like oil. Her eyes widened when she saw me. Good.
