Izan and Mist

Chapter 3 (Izan): On The Defensive

When you have a lot of energy and frustration churning inside you, there's nothing like the throaty growl of a 1969 Nova SS with a 396 big block under the hood to speak for you. You couldn't miss that beast coming, and I wanted Mist to know that not only was I coming for her, but I was in a mood.

As soon as Mist had run out of my party, I'd tried to catch up to her, but she'd hustled into a waiting Uber and took off. Of course, as luck would have it, my car was blocked in so I couldn't follow Mist to her apartment right away. Running back into the house, I demanded that people move their cars so I could get out.

Yvette, maybe not realizing just how pissed I was, rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Izan, you're going to let her ruin your birthday party with her high-school dramatics? Take you away from your family and friends who are actually here to celebrate you? You're going to go chasing after someone who pulled a dirty trick like she did, learning Spanish and not telling anyone? It's like she was spying on us and just hoping to catch us saying stuff about her so she could get mad and make a scene."

I didn't have time for this shit, so I ignored Yvette and called to the room at large.

"Anyone who's parked behind me needs to move their car now!"

Still not reading me right, Yvette put her hand on my arm. "Don't go after her right now, Izan. She needs time to calm down and if you go after her and get in her face about the way she acted tonight, it's not going to go well."

"Don't even start with me, Yvette. I don't have the time to deal with you and right now, you're at the top of a very long shit list I made tonight. Just get your damn car out of the driveway. It's the last one in and no one can get out until you move."

And then we began forty-five minutes of looking for Yvette's keys. I was ready to take the chainsaw to the thick shrubs that lined both sides of our driveway so we could move around her car.

"I have no idea where they are!" she kept insisting as she ran around the house, looking everywhere she'd been for the long-lost keys. She finally found them at the bottom of her purse, even thought the first two times she'd looked through it, she'd sworn they weren't in there.

By then, I'd been in a rage. Mist wasn't answering my calls or texts, and I was blocked in and couldn't get to her apartment. When I finally got there, her car was parked in its space, but Mist refused to answer when I knocked on her door. Not wanting to do something extreme like kick her door in -- although I'd been seriously tempted -- I gave up after two hours of knocking quietly.

I'd had to work the next two days, but every morning and night, I was back at her apartment, my mood worsening with each hour that passed, with each hour that I couldn't talk to her. I'd waited outside her apartment, pacing, calling her phone, wishing I had a fucking key to her place so I could let myself inside, make sure she was OK. No contact was not Mist at all.

On Sunday morning, I'd taken to driving by all her favorite places within walking distance, then driving to all of her friends' homes I'd been to, then back to her apartment. It finally dawned on me that maybe she'd gone home. Her parents lived about forty-five minutes away from here, on a commune.

So I'd called her mother and she told me Mist was there -- and I'd never felt so relieved in my life. I'd immediately run for my car and headed out to the country.

I parked in the driveway of Mist's parents' home and ran up the steps to knock on the door. Her mother, a beautiful woman who looked and dressed like she was a flower child, answered. Sunflower's smile wasn't as bright as it normally was, but I wasn't surprised. I'm sure Mist had filled her in on the night of my party.

"Is Mist here?" And why was my normally low voice cracking like I was hitting puberty?

"She's at her grandmother's right now, Izan."