Page 13 of Loathe at First Sight

This old pickup truck is just about as old as I am. But the thing still runs like a dream.

Less than ten minutes later, I’m walking through the door of my childhood home. As I step into the living room, a million memories hit me all at once. Although a few minor things have changed—a bigger TV and a new couch—this place is exactly the same.

The whole house always smells like vanilla. That was the only candle scent Mom would ever burn. Maybe that’s why I like vanilla body wash so much. It reminds me of home.

Or maybe it just smells good.

I’ve never put much stock into psychology.

Slowly, I walk through the living room, looking at all of the photos on the walls. The biggest frame holds a picture from our last family vacation. We took a trip to Yellowstone National Park shortly before I graduated high school. That was the last time we were all in the same place at the same time for more than a few days.

In the photo, we are all smiling. I remember right before this was taken, we were all hot, sweaty, and miserable. It's funny how a picture can hide all of that. But overall, it was still a fun trip.

All of us kids resemble our dad with our skin tone, brown eyes, and dark hair. Michelle is the only one even close to Mom because her hair is a few shades lighter than the rest of us, so it’s a dark brown rather than black. Poor Mom. She had five kids, and not a single one of them looked like her. Those Greek genes of Dad’s are strong, and he passed them along to all of us. Mom’s blonde hair and blue eyes didn’t stand a chance.

Most of the other photos are all of us kids. Some are from graduations. Some are from when we were little. But all of them show exactly how proud our parents were of their babies.

None of the frames match, and there’s no rhyme or reason to any of them. The whole house is pretty much like that—just a collection of random things that they’ve accumulated over the years. I wouldn’t say that the place is cluttered, but it’s pretty damn close.

Back in Los Angeles, my house was the definition of organized. Everything had a specific place, and it would drive me crazy if things were strewn about. And everything matched.

I let out a deep sigh and decide to head upstairs. I can walk down memory lane tomorrow after I’ve gotten some sleep.

The door to my old bedroom creaks as I push it open. This is one of the only rooms in the house that seems to have changed over the years. After I moved out, they originally turned it into a room for Eve, Michelle’s daughter, since Michelle was still living at home when she was born. After they moved out, Mom turned it into a guest room.

For who? I have no idea. They never have anyone come over that isn’t already local. Even when I used to come home to visit, I would usually stay at the town inn rather than here. I would have done the same this time if I had any money.

I throw my bag down on one side of the bed and fall in a heap on the other. I stare up at the ceiling, watching the fan go round and round.

What the fuck has happened to me?

Not all that long ago, I had my perfect life. It was the life I’d dreamed of for myself. And in the blink of an eye, it all was ripped away. Now, I’m right back to square one.

I rub my eyes, thinking that I don’t want to break open the pity pinata right now.

The room is so quiet that it makes it easy to get lost in my own thoughts, so I reach for my phone and turn on my favorite true crime podcast that I was listening to on the drive. I tell myself that in a minute, I’m going to get up and take a shower before going to bed. I’m sure it will help me feel better.

But as I get comfortable on top of the thick blankets, I am entranced by the words of the podcast. It’s a small thing from my old life that gives me a bit of comfort.

And before I know it, my eyelids grow too heavy to bear, and I’m out like a light.

five

Morning Walks and Talks

Jack

“Come on, Ellie,” I prompt my dog to get her to cross the street. She sees a puddle and immediately stops to look at me. “Come on. A little water won’t kill you.”

Instead of stomping through the water, though, she starts to back away and then plants her butt right on the concrete.

“Really?” I say with a heavy sigh. “Are you kidding right now? You know, eventually, I have to go to work this morning. We can’t have this walk take all day.”

Finally conceding, I lean down to slide my arms around her stomach and lift her over the puddle. When I set her on dry ground on the other side, she starts trotting again as if nothing ever happened.

When I first moved to Lilly Leaf Falls, I decided to get a dog to combat my constant loneliness. I figured it would be great to have a companion who would go for runs with me in the mornings and hikes on the weekends.

So, I got Ellie—an adorable golden retriever. I found her at the pound. She was already six years old, and no one wanted her. We fell in love instantly. She’s the best dog a guy could ask for. But a hiking buddy she is not.

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