“—I’m not interested in—”
“… you have no idea the kind of trouble your father and I got into under Hunter’s nose back in the day.”
Giving up, I slumped back into the well-worn leather of a high-back desk chair, resigned to listen to her ramble nowthat she had gotten started. Something we had in common was our motor mouths and inability to stop talking once the engine started. She spent another twenty minutes telling me about the time my grandfather caught her sneaking into my dad’s room through the window.
Mention of my father had an abrupt, sobering effect on her, the divorce still too recent, too raw. I didn’t want to talk about him either, so we moved on to lighter topics until she circled back around to her original point.
“Ophie, you’re going to end up a spinster at this rate! You need to go out and live your life. Make new friends and have some fun!”
“No one uses the term spinster anymore, Mom.” Exasperation wove through the words. “I have plenty of fun in the lib—”
“In the library,” Mom huffed. “Yes, I should have known.”
While Mom won the house in the divorce, it had originally been the Ashcroft family home. It belonged to Grandpa Hunter before he tragically passed away. Dad wanted to keep it in the family, and we used it as our holiday home ever since. It seemed ironic, or perhaps poetic justice, that Dad no longer held claim to the property of his youth.
Despite all the memories tied up with my disappointing father trapped within the walls of that house, I couldn’t stop adoring the place. Aside from my bedroom, my favorite place by far was Grandpa Hunter’s library. It had been his study when he lived and worked at Kilbride.
I’d started doing all my coursework in that room, wrapped in the cozy blanket of nostalgia, surrounded by warm, moody colors, and more books than I could read in my lifetime. And there was something special about doing my assignments at my grandfather’s desk. Like there was a piece of him still carved inthe wood and I might feel his presence guiding me through an essay.
“You can’t spend your life as a recluse.” Mom’s voice brought me back to the present.
“I am not a recluse!” I snapped. “There’s plenty on my plate to keep me occupied.”
My mind wandered to my impending work for Professor Quinn. Between lectures, assignments, and aiding him, I couldn’t fathom adding the banality of going to parties fitting within the well-oiled machine of my routine.
Going off routine frayed the already delicate state of my nerves.
The music continued thumping as the conversation faded
Several moments passed before Mom sighed, softening her tone. “I just don’t want you to be all alone in that big house all by yourself, darling.”
“I know, Mom. I know.”
Affection and appreciation swelled within me, coursing in with a dejected loneliness when the call ended. Mom supported my goals, and she wanted the best for me. But our interests in literature and reading differed. She didn’t have the same affinity for it. She had always been a woman for social gatherings, throwing parties, grabbing lunch or going shopping with her friends. A true socialite, whereas I was studious, academic, and more than a bit socially inept.
Too much like my father—a thought that once brought me pride and now festered in my mind. Suddenly, the idea of sitting around alone with nothing but my thoughts on a Saturday afternoon soured my mood.
That was how, an hour later, I found myself walking around the historic downtown square of Kilbride, Massachusetts. The dynamic blend of architectural styles sat on a square with busy side streets and bustling alleys splitting off into smallersplinters. A whirlwind of activity spread across the iconic hub featuring retail shops, cafes, and restaurants. People, largely students from the university, spilled onto the sidewalks and traveled in small packs. As the day crept closer to sundown, I noticed the larger crowds gathering at the bars, herding around the doors and overflowing outside onto unbalanced, beer-sticky tables.
“Hey!” someone yelled as I passed an alley. Quick steps shuffled behind me, and I turned seconds before a hand grabbed my elbow. “Blondie, hey. Wait up!”
Moth grinned down at me, his expression wide and smile toothy. It surprised me to see him there, though it really shouldn’t have. I hadn’t been expecting to run into anyone. Or get stopped. It threw off the mental route I had planned for exploring the square.
“Didn’t expect to see you out here. I feel like you’re avoiding us,” he said. Moth took a final puff of his cigarette before dropping it. He crushed it under the thick sole of his military boot before rubbing his hands together.
Us. So, Niffy and Talon were around somewhere.
“Oh, nothing like that,” I lied, not wanting him to know how correct my mother was about my hermit habits. “The start of the semester is just so busy.”
“Yes, of course! Well, since you’re out and about, would you care to join us?” He swung an arm down the alley behind him. To complete nothingness. Catching the arch of my brow, he chuckled. “There’s a pub down here we usually meet at. The others were waiting while I took a smoke break.”
“Ah, right.” Still, I shuffled in place. I didn’t know them very well, but friends weren’t made from dreams and wishes. Mom was right that I needed to put myself out there. “Sure.”
“Perfect!” Moth clapped before looping his arm through mine. The physical contact made me stiffen, but he didn’t seemto notice as he swept me into the alley between buildings. “Niffy and Talon are already at our usual table. You’ll fit right into our booth with us. This’ll be great!”
Another turn opened onto a back street older than the others around the square. Cobbled roads, worn stone, and rich wooden beams gave the street an old-world charm. Like I had stepped into another time or another dimension.
Moth smiled down at me as I took in the two-story building and the sign hanging over the door reading “The Owl’s Tavern”. He held open a heavy door with a small stained-glass window shaped like a barn owl’s face and ushered me inside the dimly lit space, the atmosphere thick with beer and body heat. An interior of sculpted and carved wood wrapped around me, swallowing me into the heart of a heady, warm pub-style environment.
