Love Untamed

By: Ra Chael Ohara


I cannot believe this. Don’t get me wrong, I always knew I was adopted. There was just no way around it. I look nothing like my mother. Pearl Jones has shoulder length, blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and fair skin. She’s five-foot-seven, tall for a woman, and stick thin.

Me? I’m not fat, at least if you don’t ask for my mom’s opinion. I have curves, aka big boobs, and an even bigger booty. And I’m short. Five-foot-four. All my life I’ve bared the brunt of all the short jokes. I have long brown hair, brown eyes, and naturally tan skin.

I, Eva Jones, look nothing like my mom or the dad I had the first three years of my life before Pearl’s greed ran him off.

So, I always knew I was adopted. Even after all the times mom lied and said I wasn’t, deep down I knew, but I also figured if my family put me up for adoption and didn’t bother to find me the past twenty-five years of my life, why should I try to find them?

I have a good life. Despite my mother’s constant overbearing and slightly verbally abusive behavior toward me, I know she loves me and was just trying to do her best. I’m content with the life that I’m living. Heck, I have a successful fiancé I’m about to marry in three months and a semi-successful photography business.

Then, a week ago, I received a call from a lawyer who I have never heard from before. This morning, I sat across from this lawyer and he proceeded to tell me that not only did I have a granddad I never knew about, but I’m also the only surviving relative of Robert Garcia, making me the beneficiary of over one million dollars and some cottage in Alaska.

One. Million. Dollars. I’m a millionaire. I had a grandpa, a grandpa who never bothered to seek me out, but left all his money and land to me? The thought makes me sick. I look over at the note Robert left me with his will that’s sitting on the passenger seat of my car and see it’s addressed to Eva Garcia. Garcia…My real identity. I’m not a Jones.

Since I was a little girl, I have been primed to be a trophy wife. Always have my nails done to perfection. Weekly waxing sessions since I hit puberty. Never, not once, can I remember my legs being hairy.

I had the best clothes, went to the best schools, drove the best vehicles, but I’ve never felt like I belonged. I know what you’re thinking. Aww, poor rich Eva. I’m grateful, but I didn’t want any of that.

I wanted to travel after high school, explore new cultures and cities, capturing memories with my camera along the way. I didn’t want to be engaged and married by twenty-five, destined to be Elliot Simms’ trophy wife.

And just once I want to have hairy legs!

I immediately feel guilty for my thoughts. Elliot is a good guy. He’s taken care of me from the moment my mom and his dad introduced us. I love him. At least, I think I do. I wouldn’t say that sparks flew the moment I met him, but, after a while, my feelings for him grew.

I grab the letter Robert left me and shove it to the bottom of my purse with a little anger. I’m not ready to read that letter yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I’m scared that if I do, there’s a chance I’ll read how much he regretted not trying to find me and building a relationship with me. I’m petrified that it will say the opposite.

I take a deep breath and begin the trek up to the condo I share with Elliot. I’m going to have to tell him about the money and the land. I’m just not sure how he’s going to react. Even though he’s a very successful CEO in the company he runs for his father, he comes from old money. He wants to keep it that way. The constant problem in our relationship is him wanting me to quit my hobby of picture taking—as he puts it—and stay home full time.

To me, photography is not just a hobby. It’s my passion, the only thing I’ve had my whole life that has made me feel like…me. I’ve tried everything for him to see it my way: Arguing, bargaining, and begging. I’ve even tried seeking advice from mom. No surprise, she chose Elliot’s side.

My best friend, Charlotte? She thinks I should scrap both Elliot and my mom and run away with her. What the heck would I do without my Charlotte, my best friend since kindergarten? My mom hated her from day one, and the feeling is 100 percent mutual on Charlotte’s end.

She’s a sarcastic, loud, fun-loving gal who didn’t come from money, but from a trailer in the only park for miles literally on the other side of the railroad tracks.

Photography and Charlotte are the two things mom couldn’t take away from me. Charlotte is the peanut butter to my jelly, the chip to my dip. Nothing will ever change that. Just like nothing is going to change the fact that I’m going to marry Elliot Simms in three months.

Or at least that’s what I thought when I opened the front door to our condo. What I saw on the other side of the door blew my perfect world right open. Elliot and a woman having sex on our couch.

She’s on her knees with her arms propped on the arm of the couch. Because she’s facing the wall, I can’t tell who she is. The sounds of her moans, Elliot’s cries, and the gross noises of stuff slapping together drowned out the sound of me opening the front door.

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