What a Girl Wants (30 page)

I lift my arm straight in the air, trailing my Burberry scarf behind me like a kite tail. Breathing in deeply, I realize for the first time, and with a bit of pride, that I really am a Reason! I’m probably a Reason-cubed, but I am not a victim!

I’ve been playing the victim. I whine about how work sends me across the world without even twenty-four-hour notice, but is that Purvi’s fault? No, it’s mine for allowing them to beat me into submission.

I’m a patent attorney, not a worldwide salesman. I never signed up to be jaunting all over the planet on one person’s whim. Then I whine about it, like,
Woe is me, they’re doing it again.
See? Victim.

I’m
the one who will come in at six a.m. without a question. And I’m the one who chose to go out with a friend’s ex-boyfriend, without for one moment wondering why she might have dumped him. It never occurred to me that Arin has a missionary soul; maybe she’d been missionary-dating the very elusive Dr. Novak. If anyone was strong enough in their faith to do that, it’s Arin.

You know, even transferring my material goods to Seth’s friend because I was so overwhelmed—my fault. If I didn’t have a roof over my head, why was I going to Taiwan to work for basking in some glory that probably won’t ever come?

My arm is still straight up in the air with my $200 scarf trailing as a victorious flag. I will beat Silicon Valley, and I will do it on my own terms. I am a Christian first. A confident, take-charge woman. A grunt laborer second. Success is about living the gift, not impressing the neighbors.

I let go of the scarf and from my rearview mirror watch it drift on the wind. Then, I downshift into fourth and punch it. I am free! I’m not single for a reason. I’m single because that’s God’s will for me.

After all, I don’t have to answer to anyone. I can get a double espresso at ten p.m. and there’s no one to say, “That will keep you up all night,” like John does to Brea.
Mental note: My husband—if
there ever is A Husband—won’t care if my girlfriend comes over once
in a while and giggles with me like we’re at a teenage slumber party.

God didn’t place me here in the tech capital of the world to play the victim. He placed me here to enlarge His Kingdom, and how can I do that whining about my pathetic life? Brea’s married. She still whines—only now it’s for kids. It’s always something. Contentment has to start somewhere, and I choose here along my favorite road, in my gorgeous convertible, under the California sunshine in the midst of winter . . . I choose to start here.

I grab my cell phone and put the earphone in my ear. Granted, I have to roll up the window to hear, but I shout Kay’s name, and the number dials automatically. I love technology.

“Kay Harding,” she answers.

“Kay, I have a proposition for you.”

“Yes,” Kay’s a bit nervous, hearing from me again without an appointment.

“Kay,” I say with personality, trying to get her involved with my renewed passion. “I have no place to live at the moment. What would you say to my paying rent and living with you? You don’t have to answer now, but I’m tired of the struggle. Making ends meet, to say nothing of making dinner! Life doesn’t have to be this hard. We can make it easier on each other.”

“Sure,” she says simply, and I almost hear relief in her voice. Could she be lonely in that big ol’ house?

“No, really, I want you to take your time,” I say. I don’t want her volunteering to house me as a mercy mission.

“I don’t need any time. I’d like a roommate. Regardless of what I said, I get sick of cooking for myself. This place is too big for me anyway. But . . . will you keep the living room clean?”

“I will.”

“And no wild parties?”

“I’ll do you one better. No parties at all.”

“Done then. $675 a month?”

“Eight hundred, Kay. It’s still half what I was planning to spend on an apartment.”

“Great. When are you planning to move in?”

I’m silent for a moment. “Is tonight too soon?” I ask sheepishly.

“I’ll go get a key made for you on my way home from work.”

We say good-bye.
There.
I will live with the great clipboard; maybe I’ll learn some organization in the process. That was stepping out of my comfort zone. I feel ready to take on the world. One problem solved at fifty miles an hour with the wind in my hair and an ear speaker
. Next.

I shout Seth to my phone.

“Hi, Ashley. Where have you been? I didn’t want to call . . . thought you might be angry at me.”

“Nah, I’m not angry. I got arrested today, had another date with a non-Christian—my specialty lately—but I did find a place to live, and I’m going to work on getting my stuff back tomorrow. What’s up with you?”

“Ash, have you been drinking?”

“That seems to be the consensus, but no, I haven’t been drinking. I might be more normal if I had. I’ve never been clearer-headed.”

“Do you want to go by the police station after work to get some stuff ?”

“Actually, I’m not going to work, and I’ve seen enough of police stations today. I’m going to the beach: Natural Bridges in Santa Cruz. I just wanted to let you know I’m okay and not to worry about my stuff. I’ll get it tomorrow.” I pause and bring out the big guns. “I appreciate how you’re always ready to help me, Seth. But I’m growing up today.”

“Ashley?”

“I’m going to Hawaii. I picked up some brochures while I walked in Palo Alto. In stiletto heels. I don’t really recommend that. Hawaii, on the other hand . . .”

He’s confused. I don’t know why I can still surprise him. I’m neurotic, and I change like the wind. Why is this so hard for him to grasp? Maybe that’s why I like Seth. He’s fascinated by my ever-changing mental state. If you consider the fact that very few other people, my family included, notice my mental state, it’s almost a compliment. I’m fascinated that he never seems to change.

“Ash, you’re in the middle of a lawsuit for Selectech. Hawaii?”

“Hawaii,” I say emphatically. “But first, Natural Bridges State Beach.”

“What are you up to?”

I let out a long, evaporating sigh. I’m not a woman of conviction. When Arin said she was leaving for the rain forest, everyone just shook their heads. They knew she meant it. From now on, when I say something, people will cower at my conviction.

“I’m up to fifty miles per hour on this gorgeous sunny winter day, and my car has a mind of its own. It just won’t go to Selectech. It’s going to Natural Bridges.”

Seth is stunned silent. And this is a good thing. Last week, my life had so many romantic prospects. But today, I realize there really wasn’t an option in the bunch. I was valedictorian. You’d think it wouldn’t have taken me thirty-one years to know what I wanted, with or without a man.

“Don’t you have to look for a place to live?” Seth asks, trying once again to suck me back into the vortex of fear.

“Found one. I move in with Kay Harding tonight.” Aha! I’m not a complete idiot. I can find myself a place to live with no credit and no belongings.

I look in the back of my car. Whoever stole the top didn’t take the Bible sitting in the backseat. But I guess when you steal, the Bible isn’t exactly what you want to take. Still, I’ve got all the makings for my own little retreat in this vehicle and that’s what I plan to do. Revel in my single status. Rejoice in God’s reasons, regardless of what they are. Plot my course. From here on out, Ashley Wilkes Stockingdale is a new woman.

“Gotta hang up now. I need to call Purvi.”

“Ash—”

“’Bye!” I hang up, pretending not to hear his last call. I do not analyze the conversation. I just move on.
Next.

“Purvi,” I tell my phone and I hear it dial.

She answers yelling, very un-Purvi-like. “Ashley, where are you? Marketing and engineering need the drawings you checked, and I need you to go over these contracts again. You’re on the foreign filing deadline for one patent, a continuation deadline for the other. Where are you?”

“I’m in my car. On the way to the beach. I’ve worked for sixteen days straight, and I need a break before I turn postal.”

Purvi’s voice changes. She’s sympathetic, but she still wants what she wants. “Ashley, are you looking to lose your job? I can cover you for so long, but these patents need to—”

“I spent two weekends in Taiwan and I have eight weeks of vacation stored up—not counting my comp time. I’m not going to lose my job unless Selectech needs another lawsuit, and they don’t. I just need a day off and I’m taking one. Work will all get done. Have I ever let you down?”

She swallows her next words. I hear it, even with the convertible open and the wind rushing into one ear.

I calmly continue. “I’ll be in tomorrow, and everyone will have what they need by deadline. Today belongs to God.”

“Sure, Ashley. If you need anything at all, you call. I’m worried about you.”

Her concern is back. I’m leaving this trail of panic-stricken people behind me because I’m taking one day off. What does that say about me?

“Brea,” I say to the phone. She answers.

“Now
you’re home,” I chastise.

“Of course I’m home. I was looking at cribs this morning. Did you call me on my cell?”

“Yes, but in the cavernous crib store it probably didn’t work. Would you get a decent phone?” I lambaste her.

“I was only in there for an hour.”

“It was an hour I happened to be in jail.”

“What on earth?”

“I hit a police officer. Long story, but he grabbed my Prada. That’s history. Now I’m going to the beach. I’m moving in with Kay Harding tonight—just wanted to let you know I would be at your house to get my stuff and then I’m outta your hair. That should make John happy.”

“Cut it out. John loves having you here.”

Yeah, like one loves caring for a neighbor’s angry caged cat.

“You want some company for the beach?” she asks.

“Nah, thanks though. I’ll call you tonight.” I hang up the phone and make one final call. The call I’m dreading the most.

30

T
he winding, snaking highway through the Redwoods to the beach is treacherous and beautiful all at once. Speeds often reach upwards of seventy-five miles an hour, and with the hairpin turns, it’s inevitable that crashes happen. The asphalt on Highway 17 is covered with black skid marks and a plethora of paint colors tint the guardrails—kind of like a sick art experiment.

I’m not focusing on any of that for long though. I can feel the sun on my face, even though my heater needs to be on full-blast to ward off the January chill. My mood is uplifted by the majesty all around me. To think of the stories that these trees could tell from their lifetime—a lifetime stretching to when Jesus walked the earth. This roadway, cut through the forest is like a slice of heaven on earth, except for the accidents of course.

I’m so entranced, that I put off my phone call to Kevin, to tell him there’s no future. There’s no sense in ruining a perfectly gorgeous day. I’ve left my problems back in Palo Alto with the top of my convertible.

These petty issues have consumed my life for years. Things like my coffee shop running out of “real” whipped cream and having to settle for the canister pre-whipped stuff. Or my dry cleaning not being back before a trans-Continental flight, or something really terrifying: not getting a patent secured in time for a product to go on the market.

I’m suddenly struck with the Ecclesiastes idea that they mean nothing. I can’t sit and state that anything I’ve accomplished will be remembered.

As I exit the highway, I can smell the ocean. Its fresh salty scent reaches for me and I obey its call toward crashing waves and dramatic, rocky cliffs. I drive through town, past all the weirdos that make Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz.

I pull into a parking lot and take in the expansive view and just listen to the thunder of the rolling waves for a while. The constancy of it, the expectation always fulfilled. The color of the water overwhelms. It’s where spas get their color themes.

I grab my notebook because this is a day for remembering. Tossing my Prada in the trunk, I walk onto the beach and watch an enormous gray pelican swoop and pluck a fish from the sea. The bird, which seems like something out of prehistoric times, soars gracefully over the crest of the wave, as if showing his catch to those lucky fish left behind. Letting the school know they could be next.

I sit on the dry part of the sand and gaze toward the vast horizon. For a long time I think about everything from what I’ll wear tomorrow and what type of bathing suit is most flattering to God’s divine plan for my life. Taking out my notepad, I decide to approach life the way I would any new patent. I listen, and I take notes in case I forget something.

The new Ashley Stockingdale will:

1. Dance at my brother’s wedding, and embrace his new life.

2. Take a vacation and learn to relax—if it kills me.

3. Spend ten minutes of every day rejoicing in my surroundings.

4. Take chances. Maybe even wear Lilly Pulitzer to work one day.

5. Not ever, and I mean never, watch
The Matrix
again.

6. Not make fun of Reasons. I am one.

When I look up, the brilliant blue sky against the backdrop of the Pacific captivates me. There’s a biplane kite in the air with vibrant neon colors, and I wish I could soar with such ease. I also realize I’m hungry. I’ve been here for three hours and never noticed a minute tick. I stand and pad barefoot toward the water and kick my big toe in the edge of an icy wave.

“Ashley!”

I laugh at the sound of my name, but it comes again.

“Ashley!”

I look up and see Seth walking toward me. He’s carrying a bouquet of flowers, and they’re tulips, my very favorite. Pink tulips. I blink and shake my head. Maybe I
have
been drinking and forgot about it.

I wait for him to reach me, to see if I’ve been in the sun a bit too long. Kind of an oasis thing going on, but it is Seth. He’s probably here to ask me if I think Arin or Kay will like these tulips, or because he feels guilty about my material possessions.

“Hi, Seth. Did you think I’d lost it?” I can’t think of another reason he’d be here.