Roses

Chapter 5

Zoey

My move to Roses had been kind of a spur of the moment decision. So I didn't have any time to plan how I would settle down here. I realized that after an hour of being inside my childhood home.

I had wandered around the house, visited every room in the modest but still spacious two storey building, and tried to feel..... something. Anything, really.

I had hoped to reminisce about my mother and feared getting flashbacks of my father's brutality. And yet, nothing happened.

That was when I realized that the house was just a house. And Roses was just a town. They didn't hold the magical ability to give me the closure, or restart depending on how I saw it, I desperately wished for. It would come to me on its own, now that I was primed in the best place to get it.

In the meantime, all I could do was.... live. And that's something I didn't have a plan for: how to live in Roses. But there's a starting point for everything, right?

I'd gone to bed, or rather crashed, that first night without really doing anything. But the next morning I had woken up with the will to kick ass. I started with cleaning, using the old vacuum cleaner that still worked miraculously and then moved on to making a list of all the things I needed to buy to get the house in functioning order.

The tasks piled up one over the other: cleaning, unpacking, restocking; but I took it all in stride, looking forward to the finished product of my home.

And now as I walk to the grocery store hopefully on the final restocking run, I feel quite proud of myself.

It's been two days since I came here but I didn't really have a chance to breathe in Roses until now. So I do just that. I slow down my pace so I can watch the cars drive by and the kids play in the park on the other side of the road.

And for the first time in my life, I find Roses pretty. After almost a decade in New York, the peace and quiet of this town holds a different charm. I feel a smile form on my face as I round the corner and enter the store.

Shopping is uneventful, though I do find myself cursing mentally every now and then over the lack of variety in brands. I'm weighing the pros and cons between two bottles of fabric softeners when I hear a soft gasp from beside me.

I turn my head to find an older man sitting in a wheelchair with another man standing behind him. I suspect the gasp came from the man in the wheelchair as he's the one holding a wide eyed stare right into my soul. It's like he has seen a ghost.

But before I can say anything, the man fixes his expression into a beaming smile. "Hello," he says.

"Er... hi," I reply. Though I want to ask him why he reacted the way he did earlier, I don't find an opening.

"I haven't seen you around. You must be new." The man taps the arm of the chair and the man behind him wheels him forward till he is just a couple feet from me.

"Yeah. I moved here not three days ago." I turn to face him. Any other day, a stranger being so friendly would alarm me on at least some level. But for some reason, his friendliness seems genuine. It's probably because of his age. Though the way his body is poised on the wheelchair lets me know he can't be old enough to be the friendly neighborhood grandpa, the lines on his face give him an ancient look. Old and wise. And strangely comforting.

"Not everyday I hear of young people moving to a town as small as our Roses," he says, his eyes shining with an all knowing glint.

"She moved back, Dad." My head instantly shoots to the owner of the voice who had crept up right beside me sometime in the last ten seconds. "Surely, you remember Zoey Kirby?"

What the hell is Adam Thorns doing here? I mean I know the grocery store is a public place but it has to be more than a coincidence that I've ran into him, or more like he's ran into me, twice since I came here. And what in the ever loving hell is his father doing here? The logic about the grocery store applies to him too. But still....

"Oh," the man says, looking between me and his son. But I never see the judgemental look on his face I expect. I don't even see any pity or sympathy, both of which I hate just as much as the judgement by the way. I only get a glimpse of sadness in his eyes and then it's gone. The smile returns and he continues, "Nice to meet you, Zoey. I'm Abraham and this is Manny." He points to the man standing behind him who also has a kind smile on his face and then he extends his hand towards me.

"Nice to meet you too." I clutch both the fabric softener bottles to my chest with one arm and shake his hand with the other. I smile at both the men as I put one bottle in my basket on the floor and the other back on the shelf.

I hope upon seeing me resume my shopping our conversation will end, because I really need a minute to get my head straight after this encounter. But nothing of the sort happens and the three men stay exactly where they are.

"How are you settling in?" Adam asks as I pick up my basket and start moving towards the cash register. I can hear the other two men following right behind.

Okay.

"Fine," I mutter. I haven't forgotten our interaction from that night and I let curtness seep into my tone.

"Yeah?" He either doesn't notice or notices but doesn't get affected by my obvious rudeness. He even has the hint of a smile on his face as he speaks. "You don't miss...," he trails off.

"New York," I supply hesitantly. He's not the type of guy I want to reveal much about my life to. Somehow I know he won't forget anything. "And no." That's the only truth he can have.

"Ah! It's been ages since I visited New York. But I still have so many vivid memories," Abraham says from behind us, letting us know he's listening in. "What did you do in New York?"

I hear no malice in his voice but the words nearly give me a panic attack. What did I really do in New York? Take a few creative writing classes at NYU, but not enough to get a degree. Start writing four books and nearly finish one, but not even manage to bag an agent let alone become a published author.

Looking at the disappointment that would be my resume, the best thing perhaps would be my job at the pharmacy. The one I left to be here.

"I was trying to be an author," I reply. I could have answered in ten different ways but I went with the truth. And I know it doesn't sound impressive. Trying to be can never be equal to became.

The woman at the register starts bagging my groceries but her posture and the way she keeps looking at me makes me think she heard me and is now judging me too. Just like I am.

"That's so amazing." I almost snap my neck with how fast I turned to look at Adam to see if he really said those words. That night he insinuated that my childhood in Roses had been a "bad chapter", even though everything that had happened then had been out of my control. Going by that logic, my years in New York should have been an epic failure to him.

Maybe I'm overthinking but I know for sure it's unlike him to casually throw around the word 'amazing'.

"Uh, thanks," I mutter, still stupefied by his response so I don't notice the woman has passed me the bill.

"Here, let me." Adam slides a black card across the counter and gives me a tentative smile.

Before I can react, the woman takes it and swipes it in her machine.

"You didn't have to do that. Let me pay you-"

"No, it's fine. I wanted to," he murmurs. I can sense something more though. He didn't want to pay for my groceries. He wanted to..... pay for his behavior the other night? Is this an olive branch?

I don't see why I shouldn't take it. Excusing his quip the other night, he has only tried to be nice.

"Thanks." I take the bag of groceries from the woman and offer Adam a smile. A genuine one.

I turn back to find the two men looking intently at us. I offer them both a smile and say, "I guess I'll see you around."

"We will meet again, Zoey." Abraham gives me a nod as Manny wheels him away. And I try not to think what he could mean by those words.