The Bucketlist

37| GETTING IN, UNNOTICED

"Mom, how have you been?" I spoke on the phone when the ringtone died.

Six months that's how long it has been since I last called her, or that's how I remember it to be!

"Don't you dare 'mom' me now, Evangeline! I have been trying to call you for ages, and every damn time it goes into voicemail!" She said, and I knew that on the other side, she was screeching her nails against one of her teak tables.

I was sorry for not calling her back. How could I tell her that I was bedridden and could barely remember my way around? Well, I couldn't. Certainly not after dad's funeral. She had been in her depression slump for so long, and I couldn't push her back into the dark place again.

"Mom, I am sorry for not calling you. I have been-uh-busy!" I said apologetically, hoping she would buy that. Please, please, please...No more scoldings.

"Busy? So busy that you didn't have a damn minute to ring up your mom! I didn't raise you to be such an ungrateful woman. Do you even know how much it pains me to know my only kid has forgotten me?" She said. Oh God, she needs to stop reading Pride and Prejudice. I don't want her to talk like Mrs. Bennet. I am no Jane, and I am no Elizabeth. I am just Eva, mom! I can't with this emotional torment.

"I didn't forget you, mom. I love you." I said, hoping that the L-word eased her up.

"I love you too. But don't you dare ignore my calls again! If I get my foot out of Seattle, I will hunt you down in Fordshire, and don't expect me to forgive you for ignoring your poor mother!" She wailed dramatically. She gets that in genes, just like me. Or the other way around.

"How's work going?" she inquired, and I found myself shifting on my toes. Horrible is what it was.

"Okay. Work's okay." I said.

"I miss you a lot. I wish you could move back to Seattle, but with your situation, I know you can't. I have to help Martha. You take care of yourself and Will." She said.

Why would I take care of Will? We were friends, but she didn't know that! Not when I didn't say a word about that. Maybe we spoke of him earlier. My memory was as good as nothing. But that eerily caught me off guard. How does mom know, Will? Were we good pals before the accident? Why don't I remember anything about him? A jolt hit up my head, and stinging pain throbbed. Strange and fucking painful.

"Mom, about Will-"

Halfway through with my question, I realized she wasn't on the other end of the line. There she goes, and mom calls me an insolent brat! I couldn't complain. She has a vineyard to look after, and the customers are hefty this time of the month. Martha might be sitting somewhere on the porch, painting an illustration of our farms. It's how it always had been back at home. 

I reached out for Advil when the doorbell rang. Suddenly, my heart raced, and my thoughts sped like crazy.

"Go home, wait for me. I will get back to you soon. I always do..." I gulped the lump forming in my throat, turning the door knob. It was Will.

He wore a black button-down and matching ripped denim. For some reason, he wore black converse shoes. No sneakers. I gaped at him, my eyes wide with amazement. Did I expect him to show up? Maybe. Did I love the way he looked? Hell, yeah. I didn't even realize that I was supposed to either let him in or kick his but out.

"May I get in?" He said, clearing his throat, and I nodded. Short on words, cat got my tongue or maybe both. He entered, and I noticed he had brought beer.

"Have a seat," I said. I felt the tug on my arm, and I turned around.

He stood too close, and his scent filled the air between us, musky sandalwood. Memories came flooding from the morning- a sobbing mess of myself, being held together by him as he unveiled himself vulnerable and told me to wait for him. My heart fluttered a little with the thought.