Page 5 of Loathe at First Sight

“Eduardo.”

Of course, it was.

“Does Eduardo have a last name?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. He plays my body like a fiddle, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“Damn, you’re just living the dream, aren’t you?”

She laughs. “Eh, it’s not all great.”

I know she’s just saying that to make me feel better. It’s nice but doesn’t work.

“Well, I’ll let you go,” I tell her. “Go enjoy Eduardo.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks.

“I’m alright, I promise. I’ll call you once I get to Mom and Dad’s and get settled.”

We hang up the phone, and the car goes silent once again. Out of my four siblings, I talk to Veronica the most. Despite our distance, she and I have managed to stay close. Along with my parents, I’ll be seeing my other siblings after nearly five years.

Growing up, my sister, Michelle, and I were closest. She was only two years younger than me, and we did everything together. But when I moved away, she got pregnant at sixteen and distance started to grow between us.

Our only brother, Dylan, happens to be Ronnie’s twin.

After two daughters and then a set of twins, our parents decided to be done…but then, seven years later, they got the surprise of Jo being born. There may be a big age gap there, but she was the perfect way to round out the Lawsons.

Despite the awful situation that I’m in, seeing my siblings again and being able to spend more time with them are the only silver linings.

I start to zone out, getting lost in my head for a while. I try to think about anything other than the life I’m driving back to. But no matter how hard I try, those thoughts always creep back in.

When my car starts rolling to a slow stop, though, a whole new thought crosses my mind.

I’m out of gas.

Son of a bitch.

I shouldn’t have pushed it as far as I did before stopping. If I would have stopped sooner, I probably could have found one that took a fucking credit card.

I pull out my phone to search through my contacts and find Dylan’s number. Maybe I can have him come bring me some gas so I don’t have to bother my parents with this. Looking at the time, I know now is a super busy time for them at the bar.

I press on the CALL icon next to his name and listen to it ring six times before his voicemail picks up.

“Come on, Dylan,” I groan before trying again.

But I get the same result as before.

I could walk into town. I’m not too far. But I’m in heels, and I’m pretty sure my tennis shoes are buried in the trunk somewhere.

I debate my options. I could call my parents. But I know Mom will be the one who answers since Dad will be busy in the kitchen.

Or I could just start walking.

Fuck it.

I’m walking.

I step out of the driver's seat and head around to the back of the car. Popping the trunk, I start rooting around in all the assorted bags, looking for my tennis shoes. I probably should have been a more organized packer, but when you’re dreading a move, you don’t want to take the time to make things look pretty—no matter how much easier it may make it.

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