Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Coming back after my fashion internship was supposed to be a short-term stop … but my heart is telling me I belong right here at Home, WA.
When my brother’s oldest friend Hank shows up at family dinner, I am reminded how smitten I have always been of this rough and tumble man.
He’s returned to his roots, too, and he is looking to settle down for good.
My dreams have changed, and I am terrified of letting my family down – but I am even more scared of letting myself down.
We have one wild and precious life … and right now, I am determined not to waste it.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
-virgin romance
-love that lasts a lifetime
-hero with values
-brother’s best-friend
1
FIG
It’s not as if I haven’t been home at all in the last four years.
I ccame back for Christmas and for a couple weeks during the summer every year. And I cherished that time because spending time with family is important.
It’s a fact that I learned while I was away.
Still, rolling up to my family’s house after graduation, I’m hit with a wave of emotion. This is my homecoming, the first one since I left where I’m not planning to go back to California or Paris or anywhere else.
I have suggested I’ll be gone by the end of the summer.
I’ve loved my experiences and my travels. They were educational both from a human perspective, and of course in my study of fashion. I have everything I need to go apply to a firm and start designing what may be the trends of tomorrow. I even managed to get noticed by a premier designer who offered for me to be his apprentice in Los Angeles.
But despite all this worldliness? I just wanted to come home for a while. I get out of the car, and hoist my backpack, which is stuffed full of the things I’ve been traveling with these past few months. Paris itself was beautiful. But backpacking through France for a couple weeks after graduation was what made me appreciate what really matters in life.
There’s a slew of cars parked all around the house. My half-dozen siblings are all here, and they’ve all been so very busy.
That’s one thing that’s bothered me about being away. Everything that’s happened in these past four years I’ve mostly had to follow from afar. And a lot has happened in that time. People have gotten married, had fantastical romances, raided not one but two cult compounds, plucked a woman and her child out of a natural disaster – all while I was in Los Angeles where yes, I was learning a ton and following my passion, but it felt like the most interesting thing to happen was when they started selling pumpkin spice lattes much earlier than they were supposed to.
It's been a bit jealousy-inducing, I guess. Maybe I expected to find some hot city slicker to come and sweep me off my feet, and make any crushes I had back here in Home seem minor. But Home must have spoiled me, because none of my attempted courters really hit me the right way. Douglas was a nice boy, conventionally attractive, and was super popular. Nothing seemed to be a red flag about him, and he asked me out on a date.
And I turned him down. Because I didn’t feel that spark.
Same problem with Scott and Chris, and a couple others I went on first dates with over the last four years – no sparks. No second dates.
I open the front door and apparently the rumbling of my car has already set off that maternal alarm, because Mom is right there waiting for me, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close in the tightest hug she can manage. “My precious, sweet Fig, how I’ve missed you so much!”
“Hi Mom, I’ve missed you too.”
“Have you been eating alright? You look like you could use a good meal.”
I laugh. “Regardless of how I’ve been eating, I’m more than happy to have any dinner you cook, Mom.”
“Good, good. I’m making my pizza casserole that you always said was your favorite.”
“Sounds awesome, Mom.” It’s really some sort of Chicago-style deep dish, but I think my poor mother got into too many arguments about pizza with people around here who aren’t used to deep dish and has just been resigned to calling it something else to avoid fights. Regardless, it’s tomato sauce, cheese, garlic, pepperoni and Italian sausage, on top of a bunch of other wonderful goodies. In essence? Whatever you call it, it’s delicious and I’ve had nothing like it in years.
“I’ve also got berry pies baking for later, your other favorite.”
“Trying to catch up on spoiling me, eh, Mom?”
“Absolutely. A few meals cooked for you over four years is far too few, Fig. I need to catch up.”
I laugh and point out that I was home every summer, then I drop my bag and go into the dining room. Everyone gets up and says their greetings with a hug. There’s a lot more people here than I’m used to, given the marriages that have happened. Everyone’s found their ‘one,’ and some of them even have families already. There are two small children sitting on their mothers’ laps, plus my first neice, Plum, who’s grown so much since last time I saw her.
The kids, the wives – their presence doesn’t change anything. It’s definitely some heavy-duty nostalgia I’m feeling.
“So how long are you sticking around for?” my big sister Lemon asks, bouncing one of the little girls on her knees. It’s not hers, but neither the child nor her seem to care.