The Route to Nevada

A Brief History of My Shitty Life

I, Nevada Easton, was completely f**ked.

Well actually, I was fried, seeing as I was stuck at arrivals at LAX in 100 degree weather with no ride, but thats just a technicality. Also, my phone was dead.

I slumped down on my cart, piled high with three suitcases and two duffel bags that pretty much contained my entire life, minus my mom of course. For the fiftieth time in the last hour, I held the power button of my bashed up iPhone, hoping that by some stroke of miraculous luck it would buzz and come to life. Naturally, nothing happened, and I slid further down the pile of suitcases, losing hope with every inch closer I came to the floor. My luck hadn't always been so abysmal, if you overlooked the part when I walked in on my father cheating with my babysitter when I was twelve, and the part when my mother had practically kidnapped me to live in the middle of nowhere in New Zealand with her farmer fiancé that she had met online, and the part where my mom had gotten married to said fiancé and had a baby girl with him, and the part where she decided that she wanted to focus on her new family so I should go back to LA to live with my dad. In fact, if I squinted hard enough, I could almost remember a time when I was a part of a functioning family.

I sat cross legged on the floor, completely uncaring of the glances strangers threw me as they passed. An elderly man hobbled past me and muttered: "Airports do that to you."

Tell me about it. I had no idea where my father was, or if he was even here, which wouldn't come as a surprise seeing as it would not be the first time he'd forgotten me. He was the type of man who wore ties on his days off, was positively offended at the idea of relaxation, and "efficiency" was his favourite word. As I stared at the scuffed toes of my white vans, a shadow fell over me, and a pair of shiny dress shoes came to a stop in front of me. I blinked up owlishly at the intruder, attempting to glare at them for interrupting my self pity session, when their face came into focus. A set of piercing grey eyes regarded me from behind tinted glasses, lines deep around a mouth unsmiling.

"Mark my words. Hasn't the ugly duckling turned into quite the swan."

I scrambled to my feet, pulling my crop top down over my shorts awkwardly.My father hadn't aged a day in the three years since I'd last seen him, and the look in his eyes was still much the same: disappointed disapproval. He wasn't as tall as I remembered. He ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed dark hair, peppered with strands of grey, then glanced at his watch: "Well? What are you waiting for? I had to cut an meeting with potential investors short because of this, you'd best make it worth my while."

I don't know what I'd been expecting, but something hollow settled deep in my stomach. I'd envisioned this moment before, but in my head it never played out like this. I looked back down at my scuffed sneakers, digging my heel into the ground.

His phone started ringing, and he turned his back to me as he answered, gesturing with an impatient flick of his hand for me to start loading my luggage into the car. Did I forget to mention that the words "chivalry" and "gentleman" didn't exist in his vocabulary? I started to push the cart, except I had no idea what he was driving seeing as he recycled his cars like people recycled milk cartons, so I hovered gracelessly, waiting for his call to end. He noticed me out of the corner of his eye, eyebrows furrowing, then seemed to understand, gesturing at a sleek black BMW SUV. I dragged my luggage cart over to the car, the lugged all three suitcases and both duffel bags inside, slamming the trunk shut harder than necessary. Two could play at this game.

I could feel my father's eyes burning into my back as I climbed into the passenger seat. I lay my head back against the headrest, wondering how the hell my life had gotten to this point. My temples pounded with the promise of a migraine, and a wave of nausea suddenly washed over me. Everything seemed so loud, the cars, the people, the announcements. Three years on a farm had taken the city girl right out of me. How the hell did I ever live in this city? The drivers door opened as my father climbed in, bringing a blast of hot air into the AC'd interior. I could hear him buckling his seatbelt, but I kept my face turned away.

"Do your seatbelt up."

I made no attempt to move.

"Do your seatbelt up, I've already got enough on my plate without a brat and a traffic ticket." His voice was growing more clipped by the second, and when it became obvious that he really wouldn't move until I wore the seatbelt, I rolled my eyes and stretched, making a point of taking my time. If there was one thing my father hated more than disobedience, it was time wastage.

The engine started, and the wheels rolled smoothly beneath us, pulling us out of the parking lot and onto the free way. I watched the sea sparkle like glitter on the horizon, watched the palms swing on the ocean breeze. We drove for what seemed like an eternity in complete silence, with me staring out of the window at the impossibly happy locals, and my father gripping the steering wheel, fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm whenever we got stuck at a red light. Finally, we turned into a gated cul-de-sac, with a guard seated in a hut, letting the cars through. After the isolated freedom of New Zealand, my old neighbourhood seemed like a cramped toy town, despite its spaciousness. We pulled into the driveway of the three storey mansion where my parent's marriage had died.

A middle aged man was bent over the front lawn, tending to the bushes. For the first time that day, a smile crept onto my face. I clambered out of the car without so much as a glance at my father, running over to the gardener. I tapped his shoulder lightly:

"Adams! Guess whose home!"

Adams turned around slowly, bracing his back. His tan face was filled with more wrinkles that I remembered, and he squinted against the sun. He stared at me for a moment as I stood grinning from ear to ear. He frowned.

"Excuse me Miss, but do I know you?"