Part 2
Chapter Thirty
Eva
The smell of gardenias fills the room as the Santa Ana winds pick up and blow through the open window above the sink in the kitchen. Calming me for a brief second, the smell is followed by the sound of wind chimes beautifully making a musical song as the dry breeze blows through Huntington Beach today.
When the sounds and the smells mix together, I can almost let go, I can almost forget everything that has happened in the last few days, and finally find a sense of stability that has seemed lost for so long.
The coffee finishes brewing in the pot under the window sill, and when all three smells collide - the coffee, gardenias, and the ocean mixing with the beautiful melody of the wind chimes - my body relaxes into the only place that’s ever felt like home.
Only now, a piece of it is missing.
My grandmother comes into the kitchen through the sliding door which leads to the backyard. Shooing one of her cats inside, she proceeds to fill its dish nearby from the pantry. Her short hair is windblown. She doesn’t say a word, only proceeds to take two coffee cups from a close cabinet, and fills them to their brims.
Walking over to me, she sits my cup down on the small kitchenette table and tugs affectionately on a few strands of my hair. She sits across the table from me. Shaking her head a few times, she looks away and takes a sip of her coffee.
“You don’t look too happy for someone who just landed themselves a job at the L.A. Times, Eva,” she says.
My grandmother’s perfectly manicured nails begin to rapidly tap against her cup. I look across the kitchen and fight the urge to cry.
“I’m happy.” I say. “Honestly I am.”
My grandmother turns and smiles sadly at me.
“I swear, this was my dream,” I start to explain. “I worked hard for this. I finally landed myself a great position. I will be making enough money to afford to move back home, live here and be able to be around family. You know how bad I’ve always wanted to be back here with everyone. These are my roots. This is my family.”
I’m searching, I know it. The look in her eyes tells me to dig deeper. But I can’t seem to make sense of all the emotions piling on top of each other inside me. The winds pick up and knock over something in the backyard. The wind chimes viciously start to crash against each other. The cat jumps at her dish as the gate nearby beats against its locks.
“Eva,” my grandmother sternly says. I glance up to meet her eyes. Stability, strength, and years of lessons hang in them. “Dreams change. People change. Life is full of ups and downs. Lessons and victories both big and small. We can’t always predict what is going to happen to us, and that is okay.”
A small tear rolls down my face.
“Life is a road,” she continues. “And sometimes it changes directions. Sometimes it hands you detours, and sometimes the road less traveled is full of greater stops, and breathtaking scenery you would never be able to experience otherwise. Do you get what I am trying to say?”
I nod.
“Life is a road to be filled with laughter and happiness. A road to be shared and enjoyed to the fullest, no matter what you have to give up along the way. A road never to be traveled alone, and never to be taken for granted. The ones you love may not always be there, so you have to take your chances.”
My eyes widen.
If loving you is wrong, I will take my chances.
As my mind struggles to make sense of the voice, the words, a faint beeping noise echoes in the distance.
This moment, my grandmother, they begin to slip away.
“Eva,” she whispers. “Your road doesn’t lead here anymore.”
As the final thread of a dream I’ve had forever drifts away, I grab out to try and grasp her hand. To try and hold onto this moment, and the truth she just gave me.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
She smiles mournfully as she begins to disappear.
The smell of gardenias, coffee, and the ocean fade. In its place, sterile, cold, and unfamiliar fill my senses.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
