Again, silence.

“Okay, well, thank you again. I’ll just go up to my room, then, and—”

“Your room?”

“Huh?”

She set the teacups back in the cupboard, everything where they belonged. “It seems to me, dear, that if you’re so sure you want to be a grown-up, then you should start immediately. Don’t you agree? Look at how strongly you felt yesterday, and poof! You made it happen.”

“Okaaaaayyyy?” I said, no idea where this was going.

“So grown-up to grown-up, I think its time you leave the nest.”

“You want me to move out?” I asked, confused.

“Yes, living here would only get in the way of your lofty grown-up ideals. So I think it’s best that you fly this confining coop. Right now.”

And with that, she slipped on her gardening gloves, set her big floppy hat on her head, and went outside to trim her rosebushes.

Point: Mother.

And the hits just kept on coming.

The good thing about being already packed for my honeymoon and subsequent move into my new husband’s home is that I was pretty much ready to move out when my mother politely told me to do so. But when I walked out the front door twenty minutes later with my last suitcase, there was Charles, exactly where I’d told him not to be. In my driveway. Excuse me—my mother’s driveway.

“Didn’t I say I’d call you?” I said, rolling my suitcase toward my car.

“Didn’t you agree to marry me?” he asked, going for my suitcase.

“Didn’t I tell you I needed some time?” I grabbed my suitcase back, then opened the passenger side and tried to cram it into the crowded car.

“Chloe, baby, talk to me. And where are you going with all this stuff?”

“Don’t call me that.” I pushed the car door shut with my butt, the latch finally engaging. “I’m going to my dad’s. My mother told me to move out. She’s not so thrilled with me right now.”

“She just wants what’s best for you,” he said, leaning against the car next to me. I could feel the warmth of his skin next to mine, his arm close to mine.

“She’s so sure that she knows what’s best for me, and you’re so sure that you know what’s best for me, but I don’t have a clue. Except that I can’t do this, Charles,” I said, looking straight into his eyes.

“Bab—Chloe, you’ve just got cold feet. Don’t throw everything away just because you’re nervous,” he coaxed, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into his side.

I wondered if any of the neighbors were watching this. My mother believed every last one of them was always perched on their sofa with binoculars and a bowl of popcorn, settling in for another episode of What Is Marjorie’s Daughter Chloe Doing Today and How Will It Impact Life as We Know It?

The thing is, his arm did feel good around me. It would be easy to let him kiss me, let him clean up the mess I’d made, and settle back in, all the loose ends tied up. Or is it tied down?

“Are you in love with me, Charles?” I asked.

“What kind of a question is that?”

“It’s kind of an important question, don’t you think?”

“That’s just silly. Why would you ask me that?”

“Still not really an answer.”

He tried to pull me closer, but I resisted.

“Of course I love you, Chloe,” he finally said, not meeting my eyes.

“But are you in love with me?” I pushed.

“Are you in love with me?” he asked quickly, now meeting my eyes. And for the first time in my entire history with this very golden boy, he looked . . . unsure.

“No. No, I don’t think I am,” I answered, my eyes stinging. Endings were never good, even when they needed to happen. I slipped out from under his arm and stood before him as he leaned on my car.

He ran his hands through his hair, scrubbed at his face, and when he looked at me again, he was in problem-solving mode. “You go back to your dad’s, relax a bit, get a good night’s sleep, and then let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”

“No, Charles, I don’t think that—”

“This is all happening too fast. We need to slow down a bit, look at the practicality of this, figure out the best course of action to move forward.”

“You’re not listening to me, Charles. This isn’t going to—” I started, and he talked over me again as he walked toward his own car.

“I’ll call you in the morning, or stop by. Yeah, I’ll stop by and we can go for a drive, talk some more.”

“I don’t want to talk more tomorrow. Not if you’re going to continue to—”

“Okay, see you in the morning,” he finished, getting into his car while I still stood there sputtering. He peeled out of the driveway, and I was left alone and frustrated.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” I said to myself, turning to get into my car. And as I did, I saw the curtains in the living room flutter. I waved to my mother—she knew she was caught.

I drove back to my dad’s, brought in my first suitcase, set it down in the living room, and told him, “I need to get the hell out of this town.”

He totally agreed with me. Which is why the next day I found myself driving up the coast, headed for Monterey.

Chapter three

Here’s why my dad is the best. Without badgering or hounding, he asked only enough questions to understand why I needed some space. And he came up with a wonderful solution right away.

My father’s family had a ranch in Monterey, up in the hills just outside of Carmel. Almost smack dab in the center of the California coast, it was like another world. I hadn’t spent much time there in recent years, but when my grandfather died the property went to my father and his sister. And when Aunt Patty passed away a few years after that, the ranch stayed with my father. My mother hated it up there, so over the years our visits became fewer and fewer. It was a beautiful property, but it hadn’t been renovated in years and was badly in need of an update. It had a very specific look to it, sort of a time capsule scenario. But for what I needed right now? It was going to be heaven.

And heaven was also currently in this car, which currently held me, my suitcases, a forty-eight-ounce Coke (not diet), and three fried cherry pies that I’d bought at a roadside stand.

As I sped north, away from the questions and the talking-to’s in San Diego, I was both excited and nervous. I’d never lived alone before. I hadn’t been to the ranch in probably five years, and Dad hadn’t been there in over two.