Chapter 32: ○ Phase Three ○ 31 • Catalyst

|| p h a s e  t h r e e ||

» you can ask the universe for all the signs you want,

but ultimately, we see what we want to see when we're ready to see it «

– anonymous

“This is delicious,” Mrs Morgan said, smiling widely as she finished swallowing a mouthful of the cottage pie, her eyes filling up with a dreamy look that only food prepared in such an exquisite manner could bring about.

“Evelyn here is a wonderful cook,” Vincent said in response, shooting Eva a quick glance with an appreciative smile of his own.

Eva smiled at the woman sitting across her, before ducking her head and cutting a small piece of her own slice.

“You made this?” Mrs Morgan gasped, turning to look at Eva now, with awestruck eyes like Eva had done something so wonderful. As if Eva had created magic. “I thought you’d ordered it from a professional catering place or something of the sort! Oh, Evelyn, you must surely teach me your ways!”

“Excuse my wife,” Noah Morgan laughed, his voice carrying an apologetic tone. “She’s passionate about baking.” And then he looked at his wife with a certain tenderness in his eyes that made Eva’s stomach tighten into a knot. How come Vince never looked at her in that manner? She was sure he loved her, but the way Vince looked at Eva was different than how Noah Morgan looked at his wife.

Noah looked at Millie Morgan like she was something divine that’d fallen right out of the sky, and Vince looked at Eva like he was contemplating what else to add or remove to make her better than how she was.

The seeds of doubt planted ever since high school was growing slowly in Eva, blossoming, spreading its branches, digging its roots deeper and prodding her to question what she knew as her reality. That didn’t mean she had the courage to voice any of it, though.

“Oh, yes, she owns Millie’s Family Bakery, doesn’t she?” Vincent joined in, a look of recognition dawning over his face. “I’ve heard a lot of offices cater from there during Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties.”

“Of course,” Mille Morgan beamed, a look of pride in her eyes. And it troubled Eva— that this woman had the ability, the right to feel proud about what she had accomplished. That she was entitled to feel proud of herself. And that Noah Morgan wasn’t correcting her, or putting her in her place. “A lot of companies cater from us.” And then she whipped her head around towards Eva, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Actually, now that I think about it, our orders have been increasing a lot these past few months and I wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands.”

Eva froze, her hand lingering in mid-air with the forkful of pie. “I’m sorry?”

Millie smiled, “dinner has been simply wonderful today. And if it was prepared by your hands, then I want you putting them to use in my bakery. I can assure you the working conditions are more than flexible.”

Eva’s lips parted, her heart beating in a way it’s never done since she moved in with Vincent and sealed her fate to this town that had broken her in an irreparable way.

The clearing of Vincent’s throat, however, yanked Eva violently out of any delusional sense of hope that could’ve crawled into the crevices of her cracked heart. “Eva’s not all about the entrepreneurial life,” Vincent spoke, crushing something in Eva that had died the day he’d first laid a hand on her before it even had the possibility of growing back inside her once more.  “She rather prefers staying back home, so I doubt she’d be up for your offer.”

Millie’s face fell slightly, and Eva wanted to scream right then. She wanted to tell her that there is nothing in this world that can feel as natural to her as baking. She wanted to tell her that her hands were naked without flour and yeast and baking soda coating them from the very tips of her fingers to her elbow joints.

But Vincent shot Eva a warning glance right then, and Eva knew it was best to stamp down a heavy foot on what she wanted and bite back her words instead. Words that were growing in its ferocity over the years, where it sat in silent anger, scratching at the walls of her throat.

“My husband’s right,” Eva finally said, offering a tight lipped smile at the woman. “I couldn’t work there; that part of the world isn’t for me.”

“Nonsense,” Millie scoffed, “I’m pretty sure you could just about conquer anything if you put your mind to it.” She took a sip of her wine, and then let out a deep sigh. “But, if it isn’t what you want, then alright. It’s such a shame— I think we could’ve made quite the professional baker out of you.”

Eva’s face gave nothing away, but oh, how her heart was picking up its pace and her breaths kept coming in short, amazed gasps. Mrs Morgan, a beautiful working woman who had her own successful bakery, believed that Eva was good enough to work there by her side? She believed Eva could conquer anything?

Something must have shown on Eva’s face though— maybe hope at the mere prospect of having some sort of purpose— because Vincent’s eyes were drilling holes into the side of her head.

So Eva pushed it back down; whatever the small spark that Millie Morgan ignited with her words was forcedly extinguished, doused with cold water until Eva was back to having nothing but a large void inside her.

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“They’re nice people,” Eva commented later that night, once Mr and Mrs Morgan had left. She pulled back the sheets and crawled into bed, Vincent’s bodily warmth meeting hers as soon as he closed the distance and pressed his chest to her back. “And Mrs Morgan’s an especially lovely lady.”

“Mm,” Vincent murmured, drowsiness evident in his tone as he grazed his lips against the nape of her neck. “Too ambitious though, that woman. Never knows her place.”

Eva bit her tongue, pursing her lips together because he couldn’t see her face, wondering why she felt this sudden urge to defend the woman. Maybe because Eva was passionate about the same thing Millie Morgan was passionate about. Maybe because Eva envied that Millie had managed to build something out of that passion.

Unlike Eva, who was just existing.

Was this really all there was to life? She’d honestly believed in something bigger, something more, when she was a kid. But she’d come to learn that it was nothing but a tiresome cycle, that it was the same devils throughout her entire life she encountered, just that they came in different bodies and faces.

“Must be nice though,” Eva dared to remark, “to do something you love and have other people willing to pay for the things you create.” She thought about how it felt to hear Millie praise Eva’s skills just earlier tonight, and for a moment, she wondered what it would be like to hear such praises every single day, to have people be willing to pay for your talents simply because they loved it.

“You don’t need the money,” he said firmly, a faint tinge of annoyance coating his sleepy voice. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Yes, of course,” she quickly said, pulling the sheets tighter around herself. “I’m sorry.”

He offered a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat as a response, his arm loosening its grip around her petite waist as he fell deeper into slumber. But Eva wished she could tell him it had nothing to do with money, that baking was never about the money.

Eva closed her eyes, trying to ignore the heavy sinking feeling in her stomach. But as minutes passed, the uneasiness only grew and her eyes snapped open when she felt that familiar nauseous sensation flow through her body. She felt the bile rise higher and higher, her hands flailing as she struggled to untangle herself from the sheets and dash into the bathroom.

The moment she reached the sink and pressed both palms against the cool ceramic surface, all that she’d consumed for dinner came back up in violent shudders, her shoulders trembling and breath faltering as she continued to throw up.

Eva lost track of time but when she was sure she was done being sick, she cleaned up after herself, and ignored the burning sensation in her throat that she’d grown quite familiar with in the past week.

Maybe it wasn’t a temporary thing, or some viral sickness. Maybe it was a serious case of food poisoning; she’d need to tell Vincent that an appointment with a doctor was necessary as soon as possible. So she made a mental note of it, and soundlessly slipped back into their room where a sleeping Vincent laid, oblivious, on their bed.

As if he would just wake up and everything would be normal tomorrow morning. As if everything would be the same and they’d go back to their ordinary lives.

As if the visit to the doctor wouldn’t prove that Evelyn Monroe was carrying a life inside her; as if there wasn’t a child growing in her womb.

And just like that, Eva would find herself hurtling down a road that she’d never imagined she’d have to take— just like when she’d been seven and her father died; just like when she’d been eight and Care had abandoned her with Logan Carter; just like when she’d been sixteen and sold herself to the devil with messy dark hair and pretty almond eyes.

Just like now, when she was twenty two and sleeping unsuspectingly, not knowing her life was about to take a turn. Not knowing that she held inside her own body what would become her catalyst.

And that nothing would be the same again.

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Written on; 20th August 2017

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The last phase of this book is going to be quite fast-paced in comparison to the childhood & teenage arc. I hope y'all don't mind <3