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Chapter 4

I guess the girl from the market ended up telling her sister that I'm in town, because people won't stop calling or trying to weasel themselves into our house. The news about my return spread like wildfire in less than a day, bringing much needed gossip and speculations and, most importantly, drama. I almost forgot what's it like living in a small town where everything you say and do is heard and seen by everyone, and everyone feel the need and right to weigh and comment your every decision and action. You're constantly in the center of attention, while in New York there are too many people for anyone to be the center of anything. You become the part of the crowd. And I like that, being a part of something with a possibility of getting lost in it.

Our closest neighbors are stopping by with all kinds of excuses. Howdy ho, I just came to borrow a cup of sugar and check the truthfulness of the rumors about your runaway daughter coming back home. Others are just calling and flatly asking about it. Why did she come home? Is she pregnant? Is her boyfriend abusive? Did she lose her job? Did she go bankrupt? Is it a drug problem?

The only person who hasn't dialed our number is probably Stefan. He's probably sick and tired of hearing my name and he had heard it for sure at least ten times in the last 24 hours.

I'm not surprised by the number of people interested in my personal life. I grew up among these people and their curiosity. What surprises is the quick and short answer Katherine e-mails to me. I turn my laptop on when I get too tired of answering the phone and hearing my father make sarcastic slash witty remarks, and when I log on, I find out that I have 12 new e-mails in my inbox. Eight of them are various newsletters. First is a picture of Matt, pouting while taking down our Christmas tree with a caption "you left just to avoid work, admit it!" It makes me smile, but I don't reply him back. I'll do it later because, right now, I'm not in the mood to act silly and sweet with my boyfriend. Excuse me, fiance. The second one is from Bonnie who wants me to tell her everything that's going on or, better yet, videotape it. I don't reply to her either. The third one is from Katherine. She didn't send me my draft back, which means it doesn't need correcting. She even said that she loves it - her exact words - with hundred of exclamation points after. She's going to publish it on our website tomorrow. The fourth, and the last one, makes me suck in some air through my closed teeth. It's my lawyer, sending me my divorce papers.

"Damn vultures!" my dad stumbles into the living room with a furious expression on his face.

I lift my look from the screen to him, watching him as he settles himself in his armchair. Soft, brown, leather armchair has always been my fathers spot in our house. "Are they gone?" I ask innocently, feeling guilty for not handling those people myself. After all, my arrival has ignited their curiosity, therefor they're my problem, not my parents. But avoiding my responsibilities and running away from my problems, letting others take care of the ashes of my ruins, is what I'm best at, I guess.

"For now," he mutters into his beard, "If they come back, I swear I'm gonna bring out my shotgun!"

I don't say anything to that, because I don't know if he's joking or actually being serious. Both of my parents grew up here, but my dad somehow grew up differently from the rest of the population. He doesn't like to push his nose into other people's business, and he doesn't appreciate when people push their nose where it doesn't belong.

"What's wrong?" he asks after few minutes of watching me stare at the screen, motionless. Serving Stefan the divorce papers has seemed so easy in my head, but now that I'm finally able to do it, I don't know how to execute the idea.

"My lawyer just e-mailed me the divorce papers," I answer.

"Elena," he says my name cautiously, "Are you sure you're making the right decision?"