Page 230 of The Havenport Collection

Eliza

March

I used to think that January was the most miserable month of the year in New England. But then I met March. Freezing temperatures, streets filled with brown slush, and the tease of spring combined to make me more moody than usual.

Could you blame me? It was thirty-one days of rain, clouds, and melancholy.

I longed for sunshine and a light jacket.

Sadly those days didn’t arrive until late May in Massachusetts.

You would think after twenty-nine years in this state I would get used to the endless winter.

After parking my car, I trudged toward my apartment, desperate for a hot bath and my bed.

It had been another brutal night in the Emergency Room.

Another night of being understaffed, under-resourced, and underappreciated.

I loved being a nurse, or at least I used to love it.

And when I made the move back to Havenport last year, I was truly excited to be able to serve my community.

But despite my best intentions, things had been less than stellar.

I unlocked the back door and heard voices coming from the store.

My roommate, Gina, and I lived in an old brick building in downtown Havenport, above Jeanious Bar, a fantastic clothing boutique that Gina managed.

The apartment was old but filled with charm, and the price and location were great.

Plus, it had been years since I’d been able to spend so much time with Gina who, until a few months ago, had been living on the West Coast.

I peeked my head into the store. It wasn’t open to the public yet, and I found Meadow Birch in the back, situated at the coffee bar, making complicated looking espresso drinks.

“Get your ass in here, Eliza,” she yelled, frothing milk with one hand while grinding beans with the other. Her twin, Juniper, leaned on the counter and gave me a wave.

Meadow and Juniper Birch were identical twins with completely divergent personalities.

Meadow was a loud, outgoing hippie chick who taught yoga and did a frequently changing array of odd jobs around town.

She was tall and willowy, had waist-length strawberry-blonde hair, and never left the house without a crop top, even in the dead of winter.

Juniper, her twin, was a shy, soft-spoken computer programmer who rocked a pixie cut and a nose ring. She bought a house at twenty-five and was by far the most responsible member of our group.

“What are you guys doing here?” I asked, looking around and seeing Sylvie and Gina sitting on the fuchsia velvet couch.

Sylvie got up and came over, enveloping me in a hug.

“We came to see you, lady! You’ve been MIA recently.

” Sylvie was an aspiring songwriter and music teacher, who frequently wandered around town with her guitar case, searching for inspiration.

She was incredibly talented and had only recently begun playing her original songs for us.

I figured it was a matter of months before she landed a record contract.

“Yeah. We never see you anymore!” Meadow trilled, creating a perfect foam heart in a cappuccino. I forgot she had spent a few months working as a barista. I think she was walking dogs right now, but it was hard to keep track.

I shrugged off my coat and took the cup she offered.

“It’s the damn night shifts. I can’t seem to get off them.

” When I took the job at the Havenport hospital, I was told I’d have to work nights for my first six months.

As the newbie, it was not surprising that I’d have to pay my dues.

But now, after more than a year, it was getting old.

I had put requests in several times, but they were always denied.

I couldn’t help but think this may have something to do with the fact that Dr. Higgins ruled the ER with an iron fist, and he happened to hate me.

I took a long sip. “This is magical,” I said, finding an oversized armchair and letting myself sink into it.

“And Gina mentioned at game night last week that you seemed a little down,” Juniper offered.

I took another sip. “It’s been a long winter.”

“Are you still depressed about the whole soulmate thing?”

I took another large sip to avoid answering her question.

I wasn’t the type of person who held back—I was always a cards on the table sort of gal—but I didn’t want to go down this road again.

Unsurprisingly, my friends had latched on to Miss Cleo’s prediction and were constantly grilling me about my quest for my soulmate.

Not that I had been looking very hard—or at all for that matter.

I had put it on my whiteboard and everything, but alas, there was no soulmate to be found lately.

Sylvie gasped. “Do you think it might be Ryan?”

I almost spit out my delicious coffee. “Shit, no. It’s definitely not Ryan.

” My stomach clenched at the thought. Ryan and I had been on again and off again since high school when we deflowered each other in the back of his mom’s Volvo after junior prom.

He was easy and comfortable and not soulmate material.

When I moved back last year, we kind of fell into a fuck buddy type arrangement.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Juniper said kindly. “Moving back here brought some stuff up for you.”

“Yes,” Meadow added, “you need to work on practicing self-compassion.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was hard to be compassionate to a person who continually screwed up. Falling into bed with Ryan was not a good choice. But it was simple.

I kept telling myself I was worth more than easy. But most days I didn’t believe it. I struggled with my impulsivity. Sometimes I overate dessert or spent too much on a cute handbag. And other times I fucked my man-child ex-boyfriend for comfort and for something to do. It was not a good look.

Ryan was a handsome, friendly mistake that I just couldn’t stop from making over and over again. I should have learned my lesson in high school.

A man-baby through and through, he was almost thirty and still dropping his laundry off at his mom’s house. He flitted from job to job, relying on his charm and the money his grandmother left him to travel, throw awesome parties, and hang out most of the time.

“But I thought you were all about casual?” Sylvie asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Yes. I like casual. But casual means returning texts and sticking to plans. I don’t like being stood up, or forgotten about, or being an afterthought.

Just because there are no strings doesn’t mean there is no decency or respect.

And I need to move forward, not backward.

I’d rather be celibate than wasting my time with Ryan. ”

“Finally!” Gina shouted with an exaggerated fist pump.

“I’ve waited years for you to figure this shit out.

” Gina was my ride or die bestie, but sometimes her brutal honesty stung a bit.

She was sarcastic, with a wickedly dark sense of humor, and I was so happy to have her home, even though the circumstances were shitty.

She was a genius—she had left a biochemistry PhD program at CalTech in December—and her cousin Nora set her up with a job and apartment here.

I knew she wouldn’t be managing Jeanious Bar for long.

Once she recovered from what happened in California, I knew she’d be back to kicking ass in the lab.

I pushed her and looked down into my coffee. I could feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I hated that I continued to repeat bad patterns long after I should have learned better.

“He’s not a bad guy…” Juniper offered.

“That’s the problem. If he were a bad guy I’d be able to stay away. But he’s just nice enough that I talk myself out of it every time he calls me or swings by with a pizza to Netflix and chill.”

“Well, you do love pizza.”

“Damn right I love pizza. It’s delicious. But I made a New Year’s resolution not to hook up with him anymore. And I’m sticking to it.”

“Good for you.”

“That seems like a healthy choice.”

“Thanks. But now I have to freak out that my soulmate is randomly walking around all the time.”

“You are so lucky,” Sylvie shrieked. She always was the romantic, head in the clouds type. She had recently fallen head over heels for Wyatt, a brewer who had moved to Havenport not long ago. She had become even more of a true love evangelist since that happened a few months back.

“But how are we even defining soulmate anyway?” Gina asked, ever the scientist. “Like the man she will marry? Or someone she will fall madly in love with and then lose? Or just someone who is perfect for her but she may never know it. Just because your soulmate exists doesn’t mean you will find him, and even if you do, that doesn’t mean you guys can make it work for the long haul. ”

“Wow. Thanks, Debbie Downer,” Juniper sneered.

Gina shrugged. “I’m just being a realist. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, Eliza.” She squeezed my arm. “You are perfect. With or without a soulmate.”

“Thanks, babe. Besides, you guys know I don’t buy into all the woo woo shit. I’m just trying to adult successfully. I do not need the added pressure.”

I generally favored more casual relationships.

I was young and despised drama. I had my parents, my friends, my work, and a series of hobbies I had picked up and discarded over the years; my life was full.

It didn’t help that my taste in men was admittedly terrible.

But I wasn’t the kind of girl who required a résumé and a blood sample for a date.

I tended to get swept up in the moment, and more often than not, discovered that these guys were losers after sleeping with them.

But I liked sex, and I liked to have fun.

And I had realized long ago that was probably the best I was going to do.

I had certainly never met a guy I wanted more with.

Someone I truly fell for. And I wasn’t sure I would.

I was too stubborn, too independent to do the whole long term relationship thing.

I zoned out for a bit while Sylvie gushed about Wyatt.

Until a few weeks ago, she was planning to leave Havenport for a corporate job in Connecticut.

But Wyatt showed up, and they fell in love at first sight, and now she was writing songs and chasing her dreams. I was thrilled for her.

Sylvie was a wonderful person who had the shit luck of being born into a family of assholes.

She and Wyatt were perfect for each other.

I wasn’t jealous. If anything, I was angry.

Mad at myself and at Miss Cleo. She planted a seed that had grown into a full-on tree in my mind.

She planted the possibility that there was someone out there for me.

After twenty-nine years feeling like a square peg in a round hole, the thought that I could find someone who got me was intoxicating.

I had busied myself for years with other things.

Convinced that I was not worthy, not able, to have the kind of honest, loving relationship my parents did.

And I thought I had made peace with it. But now?

Now I was longing for something I didn’t even understand.

A person who didn’t really exist. And I hated it.

So it was no surprise I was trying to numb this feeling with junk food and casual sex.

I had been fine until she made me believe, until she gave me that hope.

And now I was stuck with it. This stubborn, persistent hope. What the hell was I supposed to do now?