chapter three
IRENA GROANS AND ROLLS over. It's a restless night. The past week and a half has been filled with similar nights...laying in bed for hours scrolling through Tik Tok, then Twitter. She'll switch from app to app until the sun starts to come up. When she forced herself to give her eyes and mind a break, she can't stop thinking about him.
Gods, she didn't even talk to him, ( Izzy hasn't let that go yet ) but the memory of icy green eyes are always swimming just below her subconscious. He's the stranger that she'll never forget. She replays his smirk a hundred times an hour, remembers the sound of his laugh. It rolls around in her head like the most annoying pop songs always seem to. At least this is a better soundtrack than anything they play on the radio.
Her apartment is absolutely mocking the fact she can't sleep. Especially since she has to be up early so she can drive to her parent's house.
Irena Gold was born and raised in Fort Lauderdale. It's where her parents and younger siblings live. There's only two of her siblings at home now that she's moved out.
The Gold family has an excellent tradition of visiting family every Christmas. It was less of a hastle when all five kids still lived at under the same roof. Now it's a lot harder to coordinate the trip.
Irena is driving to her childhood home and following her parents' car throughout the three hour drive to Orlando. While she's excited to see her younger brothers again, the long trip and leaving her cozy apartment for a week is something she's not looking forward to.
Again, the ancient radiator by her window crackles. There's a groan from the walls and the hiss of air moving through the cracked window sealing as a gust of wind hits the apartment building. Irena sighs into the dark room. The temperature has plummeted in the past few days, probably due to the winter storm that's affected the north at the moment. It was sixty during the day. Now it's closer to fifty.
Her fingers feel cold. Especially when she picks up her phone and the blanket falls away from her hands. The harsh blue light nearly blinds her before she lowers the brightness. Even then, the room is washed alight by the device. The numbers at the top of the screen are starting to mean nothing to her.
There's a notification from Izzy. The time stamp reads an hour prior. Has she really been laying in the dark for that long?
She's sick of not having anything to do. In a spur of productiveness, she flicks the light on. The bags for the trip are packed...she finished those the previous night in a fit of insomnia. She almost trips over them as she leaves her room. A groan trickles out of her mouth as she stubs her toe on the plastic part of the closest one. Using the opposite foot, she shoves them away from the door.
Maybe it is too early to be walking around. There's three hours before she starts the drive to Fort Lauderdale. She can fill that time with a decent movie and some early breakfast.
Even then, it's a slow night. By the time six rolls around, she decides it won't hurt to leave early. She's cleaned her apartment ( twice ) and placed her bags in the car.
She knows it's Florida and it doesn't get that cold, but the early morning air is crisp. It reminds her of visits to her grandmother in New York when frost layered the ground and the sun was rising to burn away the chill. Those were the best kinds of mornings — when it was just Irena and her grandmother awake.
She'd get to sit in the sunroom with a cup of hot chocolate. ( Gram always had hot chocolate with her, she refused to drink coffee or even tea. ) They talked and watched the sky fade from dark purple to a dusty pink before it settled into the permanent blue of the day. They sat until their breath was no longer visible in the air. Then the house would stir, Irena's siblings inciting chaos the second they woke.
She missed those mornings desperately. She missed when Gram would call her an old soul.
This morning mirrored those precious memories, even if the temperature was different. Maybe it was because the city slept, peaceful in the early hours of the morning. It was the day before Christmas Eve. A day before the holiday bustle. There was time to sleep in.
Not for her, though. The ancient Toyota she's been driving for the past four years struggles to start, grumbling as she twists the key. When the engine finally rolls over with a spitting gurgle, she pats the dusty dashboard.
"Me too," she murmurs. She feels a bit guilty for putting her car through this. It isn't the best vehicle for a road trip. The car gets terrible gas mileage and it's prone to breaking down. It might just not make it to Orlando before finally kicking the bucket.
The car settles into an easy pace as she merges into a freeway. There's always a struggle getting the car to accelerate, but once it reaches the speed limit it's easy to settle in. Irena turns her music up and lets it blast through the car for the duration of the thirty minute drive.
The clock is pushing seven when she finally pulls into the family driveway of her family's one story home. She's an hour early, but the warm glow from the front window — the living room — tells her that someone is awake. The roar of her car's engine should be enough to announce her arrival.
Sure enough, the front door swings open as soon as her car door slams. Irena is greeted by the familiar face of her mother. As usual, the older woman is already dressed for the day.
"Oh good! I was just about to call and see if you were up. Look at you, taking the initiative and leaving early. Now we can get on the road sooner,"
"Great," Irena replies a bit dryly. "Twerps up yet?"
"Only just. They're eating breakfast."
She's referring to her younger brothers. A set of twins, set at the wonderful age of eleven. They're younger than her by nine years.
Irena is an unfortunate middle child. The only girl, chunked in between sets of brothers that have significant age gaps to her. Damon and Chris are only a year apart, but they're 27 and 26. She was always the weird outlier, never at a similar age to anyone else. Not to mention growing up with four boys was a hell in its own.
There's noise trickling from the kitchen, followed by the wafting scent of pancakes and citrus. Irena follows her mother through the house until they're standing in the yellow themed room.
"Twerpsss," she drawls. She hasn't seen them since Thanksgiving. Isaac glances up, but Eamon is focused on his iPad. Irena messes up his hair as she makes a pass at the plate of pancakes. They're blueberry. Her favorite.
"Use a plate! And utensils!" Her mother scolds. "Sit down, will you? Has living on your own made you barbaric?"
"Absolutely. Don't own a single ceramic. Birthday gift idea. Just nothing...yellow?" Irena gestures with the pancake at the vibrant walls. Her mother has matching sets of mustard plates that the entire family despises ( except the matriarch, which is rather unfortunate for the rest of them ). Her mother only chuckles and smacks at her daughter's arm with a towel.
The noise from the iPad catches Irena's attention again. She leans over the counter and frowns at the screen.
"Whatcha watching kiddo?"
"YouTube."
"I see that, but what on YouTube?"
"Minecraft."
"It's their new obsession," her mother supplies. "There's a popular guy they like...what does he do again? Play tag?"
"No, manhunts, Mom," Isaac complains. Irena starts to smile as Eamon pushes the volume buttons up to drown their mother out.
Until she hears a wheezing laugh and a voice that makes her heart falter. Damn. And she'd been doing so well not thinking about him.