Uncaged Summer
Автор
Colet Abedi
Прочтений
110K
Глав
54
“Best new book to read.”—New York Post
“... a wonderfully witty chronicle of awkward first dates, with Avalie slowly coming to understand what makes a relationship work, guided along the way by a supportive network of friends.... Abedi’s emotionally charged portrait of what it takes to heal from heartache resonates. It’s an uplifting ode to self-love.” —Publisher’s Weekly
Newly heartbroken, a woman embarks on a glamorized summer of couch surfing to rediscover herself and learns that though life may not go according to plan, there is magic in the unexpected.
Avalie Monfared has a theory about saying “I Do”—that the magic ends there. After thirteen years of magic-free marriage to her high school sweetheart, she’s discovered where it went: gambling and prostitutes.
Now, Ava is on a quest to rediscover herself—and men. Her soul-searching finds her living on a succession of friends’ and family’s couches, which happen to be in some of the most luxurious zip codes in and around Los Angeles. What follows is an unpredictable summer full of shamans, attack birds, awkward dates, sizzling flirtations, and unsolicited advice—especially from her traditional Persian family members, who are eager to see her remarried. With every laugh-out-loud adventure in each locale, Ava finds more solace and wisdom. And while it’s not how she planned to spend the last year of her thirties, Ava learns that there is power in letting go.
Chapter 1
“The Road Less Traveled”
“You have to find husband before it’s too late!”
My mom’s thick, Persian accent echoes through my SUV like an ancient call for war, booming through the Bluetooth speakers.
“Or you vill reach a point vhere nobody vill marry you! Nobody!”
This is her raison d’être—my future marriage. Even though I am just finalizing a hellish divorce.
In my mother’s mind she has an aging, divorced daughter she needs to find a man for, and the clock is ticking. And even though my ex has been lying and cheating for years, can arguably be called the spawn of Satan, and any normal mother would give their daughter a minute to process…it’s not happening in this Persian family.
To make matters worse, I’m about to embark on an unexpected journey she highly disapproves of for the summer. To be fair, I’d probably feel the same way if I was in her shoes. But my whole world is in shambles, and I need to find answers. I need to know who I am, what I want in this next half of my life, and where I’m going. The brutal reality is that I’ve come to realize I never had these answers before. But since I can’t go back in time, all I can do is try to put the broken pieces back together.
And there are more than I can count.
But…there are some things I’m grateful for.
Like the three suitcases in my trunk filled with all the belongings I have to show for my thirteen-year marriage to my high school sweetheart (barf), Darian Monfared (extra barf). I have my car, even though it’s leased, and I have to turn it in at the end of the summer.…
And I have my health.
My mental health is another issue altogether, but I’m hoping this little journey of mine will straighten me out and help me realize where I went wrong in my life.
Am I having an existential crisis at thirty-eight?
Fine. Thirty-nine…
Maybe. To both.
“Avalie?!” My mom sounds worried when I take so long to answer.
Avalie means “strength” in Farsi. I wonder if she regrets giving me this name. At this moment in time, I’m leaning toward a strong yes.
“I hate to break the news, but the last thing I want—or need—is a husband. I’m still trying to get rid of my last one,” I oh so kindly remind her. “Give me a break and let me get to Pegah’s and decompress—”
“You vant to decompress on other people’s couches?!”
She’s referring to my plan of bouncing around and staying with my best friends and some family, with the hope that I’ll have figured my life out by the end of the summer. Wishful thinking on my part? Who knows. But I’m going to give it a fighting chance. And it’s not like my mother has to worry that I’ll be suffering at my friends’ homes—most of them live in places others only dream about.
“Mom, I just left my whole life behind,” I remind her, hoping for sympathy. “It’s all gone—”
“It vas a shitty life,” she interrupts so fast I fight not to laugh. She quickly changes the topic to an important one for every Persian parent. “Did you eat food?”
“Not yet.”
She tells me in Farsi that if I eat, my breasts will grow back.
“I never had big boobs,” I remind her.
“You vere size C,” Mom says, like it’s true. “You tink I don’t know my daughter’s body?”
I’ve been a small B cup my entire adult life.
“You concentrate now on driving. Call me vhen you get to your cousin’s,” she commands without missing a beat.
“Okay, Mom,” I say with a sigh. It’s absolutely useless to argue. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Avalie-Joon.” Joon means “dear” in Farsi. “I promise everything vill be okay.”
Even though I’m middle-aged, hearing my mom tell me it’s all going to be fine is like the best kind of hug. It still works the same magic it did when I was a kid. I hope she’s right.
I stare at the road ahead. “One day, this will all make sense, Mom.”
Mom takes a second before responding. “Maybe it vill. Maybe it von’t…. It’s okay, either vay. That’s just life.”
