unning the shower so hot I swear the steam seeps from the rather large crack at the bottom of my bathroom door and fills my flat.
This is heaven, I think as I turn on the television and pull up the guide to see what I can watch. There’s nothing good on—every show that’s currently airing is complete rubbish—so I turn the TV off and grab my phone to see I have a couple of missed text messages from Evie.
I heard your American boyfriend showed up and took you home!
Answer me, woman, and tell me you’re alive!
Hmm, seems an alien has invaded Evie’s body. She’s not one to use exclamation points. Says they’re pointless and juvenile.
Deciding texting her would take too long, I call Evie instead.
“Where are you?” I ask the moment she answers the phone.
“At my place. Why? Do you want me to come over?” she asks eagerly.
“Absolutely not.” Perhaps I was a little too vehement in my protests. “I’m too tired. And plus, Cannon is here.”
“I’m dying to meet him. Please. Let us come over.”
“Oh God, you’re with George.” I do not want to imagine them having sex or whatever, gross.
“No, I’m not with George. He’s at work. I’m all alone at my flat, bored out of my mind.” She pauses. “Maybe we could get together later. For dinner?”
“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” I sigh, my ribs aching. “I’m still in too much pain.”
“Of course, I completely understand.”
“Evie, is your—is your dad terribly angry about the car?” I ask, my voice weak, my stomach twisted in knots. “I feel so bloody awful about wrecking it. I can’t imagine how mad he must be, especially since he’s always telling you to be careful.”
“No, you’re the one who’s always telling me to be careful,” she teases. But then her tone turns serious. “He wasn’t angry, Susanna. He’s just thankful nothing too terrible happened to you. Says he’s been beside himself with worry over you, as well.”
“Aww, your dad is always so sweet,” I say, fighting the tears.
“On you. Me? He’s constantly telling me I need to do something with my life,” she grumbles.
“Did you tell him about George?”
“Not yet.” She sounds nervous. “I’m afraid he’ll hate the idea.”
“My brother is quite the catch,” I remind her. “Handsome. And he’s the most loyal man you’ll ever meet, despite that whole Priscilla fiasco.”
“You don’t need to remind me. I’m quite aware of George’s many fine qualities.” She hesitates, sighing before she forges on. “It’s just I haven’t done anything for myself, you know? I live off my parents’ money and I don’t work.”
“Neither do I,” I point out.
“You have the art gallery.”
“I only work there part time.”
“But at least you get paid to do it,” she says.
True. It is an actual paying job. I use the money to feed myself, mostly. Keep up my coffee habit.
“I need to find a purpose, Susanna. I just can’t be George’s girlfriend. I need to be Evie, who does…whatever.”
We end the call with promises of a dinner date between the four of us in the next few days. Yet her words linger, making me wonder.
Am I selling myself short by not becoming something? I don’t want to be the girlfriend of whoever, or the daughter of whoever. And I definitely don’t want to become the wife of blah blah and the mother of blah blah blah.