Page 5 of Hearty
A lot of people looking in from the outside would think Warren is being callous and harsh, extremely so. But then, they don’t know my situation. My friend and father figure is just being honest. My mother was a nightmare of a human being, and the emotional pain she inflicted on me is something Warren had to bear witness to often. There were numerous times when the Ashtons wanted to call social services on my mother, when Warren himself went over to our house to reason with her and left defensive and frustrated, or when I’d end up sleeping at the pizzeria because it was better than going home. He knows how much I’ve been through, and he’s been through a load of shit himself. He understands why my mother’s death might be a positive thing in my life.
“Plus, it means we all get to spend more time with you. You know Alana is going to gush over you, Leona will feed you to death, and Cassandra is going to load you down with kids to watch.”
Patrick, Alana’s older brother, just had twins, his second and third children, with his retired Hollywood actress wife. Between her, Alana, and Liam’s wife, Gabrielle, the Ashton clan is growing like wildfire.
“And I can crash on your couch some more,” I respond glumly, still feeling crappy about returning to this town despite Warren’s efforts to cheer me up.
“Couldn’t go into the house, huh?” He guesses correctly because, again, he knows me.
I shake my head. “Stood on the porch and just got this eerie feeling. Like if I went in there, I’d have to relive it all. I don’t need the therapy, I don’t need to talk about it, I just need to move the fuck on. And I have. You know I never planned to come back. Everything on that property just reminds me of her, and I don’t need the reminder. I lived it. Now she’s gone and that’s how I want her to stay. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to close out the life and affairs of a woman I hated. Why the hell do they even have to be closed, anyhow? Bury her wherever, do whatever with her money, give her possessions away. God, I don’t know how the hell I’ll stay in that house.”
Warren doesn’t hesitate.
“Stay at Alana’s old place. Ever since we bought the new house, we’ve been renting it out. The last tenant moved out four months ago and it’s empty right now with no one lined up. Use it for however long you’re in town.” Warren says this like it’s a matter of fact that I’ll just take up his offer of charity.
“No, no, the house is perfectly fine. No reason I can’t stay there. I don’t need your hand?—”
“If you’re about to say handout, can it. I know more than anyone that returning to a place where your trauma originated doesn’t do any good for anyone. We have a completely empty house just sitting there. You don’t want to live in a rundown shack while you try to get the heck out of this town and start your life, so you’re taking me up on my offer. No objections. This is my graduation gift to you. Now take it.”
Accepting charity from anyone has always been a tough thing for me. I grew up with a woman shouting at me constantly for being a nuisance, a life suck, a money pit. My mother never shied away from reminding me how much of an inconvenience I was in her life. So, asking anyone for anything is simply not in my nature because of her nurture.
“As long as you really don’t have a renter? And I’ll pay you whatever the going rate is.” I nod, finally getting my duffel bag back from him.
“Absolutely not. My wife would never hear of it. And you don’t want to upset a postpartum mother, do you?” He smirks, knowing that Alana is lethal even when she hasn’t just pushed a baby out of her vagina.
“Playing that card, huh?” I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Okay, fine. But you and Alana will let me babysit those cuties for free so you two can go out.”
“Sold. Now, go get some coffee and eggs. I think there was still some of the family breakfast sitting on the stove when I walked through. I’ll have Alana rustle up the keys to her old place for me, and I’ll go grab them in an hour or so.” Warren nods in the direction of the kitchen.
I don’t have the guts to ask who cooked the group-size morning meal for the staff to enjoy as they got to their daily tasks. I’m still too chickenshit to admit I had a thing for Alana’s younger brother for much of my teenage years. And if I’m being completely truthful, I’ve mooned over pictures of him on social media and the Internet one too many times while away at college.
“Yeah, okay.”
“And Auggy?” He stands and comes around the desk, offering me his hand and then wrapping me in a hug. “Even if you don’t want to be here, it is so nice having you back.”
I hug him back, more forcefully than I intend, because it’s been a long time since I’ve felt actively cared for by another human being.
Even though I hate accepting anything I didn’t work for—the product of being guilted to death and told you were never enough by a biological parent—I’m too tired and frustrated to argue with Warren. This is supposed to be one of the happiest times of my life; my efforts should be focused on building my career and a place for myself in the real world. Only, I’m stuck here until all my mother’s legal affairs are handled. I might as well not have to stay in my childhood bedroom while doing that.
For once, I’ll let someone make my life a little easier. After all, Warren is right in the sense that I’m here to close a chapter for good. More like a fucking anthology, and I’m shutting that hefty motherfucker with a bang and a good riddance. Being over and done with a ghost as big as my mother, who has haunted me even from hundreds of miles away, will be a huge step in creating my own life.
Now that she’s gone, I might be able to accept genuine love into my life. I might actually consider becoming a mother myself one day since I’ve been scared shitless of turning out just like her whenever I think about it.
But those are thoughts for another day. Right now, I need to tend to my grumbling stomach and then set up a meeting with the lawyer. The man who had contacted me about my mother’s will is someone I never heard her speak of. Then again, she never told me much about her life and was usually only yelling at me about mine.
Walking through the Hope Pizza building is like being transported back in time, but to memories that I cherish. Working here, becoming a part of the restaurant family, with everyone in town knowing that I would be on shift certain nights, was the one and only time throughout my childhood that I felt a part of something.
When I enter the kitchen, Evan Ashton stands at one of the counters, chopping away as if no one else in the world exists but him and that knife. Watching him cook is one of the most attractive things about him: the focus, the determination, the swag with which he handles it all. Observing his culinary expertise is like watching an athlete wipe the floor with an opponent; only with Evan, you get a delicious meal out of it.
Not that his prowess in the kitchen is the only attractive thing about him. Chestnut brown hair that’s a little too unruly in its waves that curl over his neck, like he can’t bother with the time it takes to get a haircut, sits atop a chiseled face that is all Ashton in its genes. Not an unattractive person in the bunch. Light aquamarine eyes that seem to see right through you when he finally glances up at something other than food, tattoos wrap around his lean biceps, a tapered waist that almost always leads into black jeans sitting on his hips, and a small diamond stud that glints in his left earlobe. Evan is the epitome of a badass city chef who just happened to be called back to his small town to take over the family establishment. He’s concentrated and careless in a completely unique manner, and I always thought it was effortlessly cool that he just took off to do his own thing while the rest of his siblings stayed put to perform their chosen duty in Hope Crest.
I haven’t seen this boy, well, he’s a man now, since I was eighteen years old. Since I had a crush on him that could fill the size of the largest cruise ship. Since he barely registered I even existed, much less worked in the restaurant his family owned. The final summer I worked here, as he began to take over the menu, was the only time we ever truly spoke, and he didn’t seem to be all that impressed with me. In fact, he was kind of flippant and rude when it came to me being in his kitchen.
I’m a different woman now, though, one with confidence and a view of the world outside of this tiny Pennsylvania town. I’ve put up with big New York attitudes, competed against snobby college kids who didn’t work their asses off just to be there, and landed roles in companies that would make anyone view me differently if they saw my résumé. Since leaving Hope Crest, I have found my worth.
And got over my stupid crush on a guy who barely cared to realize I was there. Well, sort of. The way my heart is beating double time, and the sweat that slicks my hands say differently.
Trying not to disturb him, I spot the coffee pot in the same place it’s always been, with a skillet of scrambled mushrooms, tomatoes, and eggs sitting next to it on a hot plate. It’s not like the guy ever acknowledged my presence before, so it would be strange to interrupt him now.