Robbie & Eve – I’m right here if you want me

(Sorry, our original post was a mess of fonts – here it is in with proper formatting)

What I’ve written below describes how I met Eve. When she read my narrative, Eve made a number of edits – mostly to the conversations we shared – to reflect what she recalls saying and to reflect the way that she speaks.

Some people may complain that I’ve included too much detail in the description of how we met, or that the narrative is too slow to progress. Both Eve and I respectfully disagree and think that it is important that a reader understand all of the circumstances surrounding the events that transformed our lives. It’s the only way that anything makes sense.

We are not posting this everywhere – only on stories.xnxx.com – and if there’s enough interest we will share more of our memories of how our relationship developed. It was (and continues to be) an incredible experience.

Robbie & Eve
12 October 2012

___________________


Traffic on I-95 wasn’t too bad as I headed north through New Jersey toward New York. Three days of meetings and property tours around Trenton had been very productive and I had just one last client to visit outside of Boston before I could head back north to Montreal. I could have flown rather than spending time on the road, but I love driving and it allows me to drop in unannounced on properties owned by the REIT (real estate investment trust) that I work for. My surprise visits help to keep our property managers on their toes.

It was an exceptionally cold Friday morning in January and the radio announcers were warning that a powerful snowstorm would move into the region from the Midwest during the afternoon. I wasn’t particularly worried because I’d probably be fairly close to Boston by the time the snowflakes started to fall and the Escalade was a real snow machine. Still, driving in the conditions they were describing wouldn’t be ideal, so I clicked the “+” on the cruise control a few times to move along a bit more quickly.

I’m a creature of habit and I tend to use the same rest areas every time I travel to top off on gas and to pick up coffee or snacks. The last plaza before the insanity that surrounds New York City is one of my regular stops, so I glided in and pulled up to a pump. Despite the bitter cold, the usual herd of road warriors was camped out in front of the fast food restaurant holding cardboard signs that read “Albany”, “Hartford” and a rather optimistic “Portland”. I assumed that the fellow meant Maine and not Oregon. I’d given rides to people in the past that looked relatively harmless and the conversations were usually interesting. I could have helped “Hartford” out, but he looked pretty strung out and I thought the better of it.

One of the things I like best about travelling in the U.S. is that I can fill up the Escalade for a lot less than in Quebec – even so, it’s a hungry beast and it takes a while to feed. The cold was seeping through my jacket as I stood in the wind and I promised myself to buy something warmer when I got home. After the pump clicked off, I replaced the nozzle and took my receipt – then I moved to the back of the Escalade to get my winter boots. There was no reason to wear my dress shoes if it was going to get sloppy outside and my feet were pretty cold.

As I pulled my boots from underneath my travel bag, I heard a muted “Bonjour” from behind me. This is hardly a typical greeting in the U.S., where French is not heard very often. I turned around and saw what I initially thought was a child wearing a puffy parka and ski pants. When I looked a bit closer I realized that the “child” was a female and that she was, in fact, not a child. It was difficult to tell because of the parka and her hood, but she was probably in her early 20’s and about five feet tall. She held a cardboard sign that read “Canada” in large block letters and wore a backpack that was almost as large as she was.

I said bonjour in return, and then asked her in English where she was from. She switched over to English and said, “Cote-des-Neiges”, which is a neighborhood off the Autoroute Decarie in Montreal, just a few kilometers from where I live. She pointed at my license plate.

“I had to come over when I saw you were from Quebec. Are you on your way back?”

I told her that I was, but that I had to make a stop outside of Boston before heading for the border through New Hampshire and Vermont.

“Is there any way I could get a ride, at least to the border?”

I told her that I also lived in Montreal and that I wouldn’t mind bringing her the entire way home if she didn’t mind getting back after midnight.

“God, I really appreciate it. I promise I won’t bother you, ok?”

I smiled and asked her name as I helped her take off her backpack. I noticed it was quite heavy as I put it into the back of the Escalade and I wondered silently how she managed it.

“It’s Eve. Nice to meet you, uhm…”

I told her that my name was Robert but that everyone called me Robbie. She nodded her head and I opened the passenger door for her.

“Hmmm, a real gentleman.”

I walked around to my side and started the engine, adjusting the heat up by a few degrees to get rid of the chill. Eve settled in quickly and pulled her hood back – at that moment I realized that she was probably a French Canadian / Native American mix because of her high cheekbones, complexion and eye shape. She had her hair tightly pulled up, a hairstyle that I found wasn’t particularly flattering for her, but she was definitely attractive and had a friendly face.

We sat silently and listened to music as I reentered the flow of traffic on I-95 and headed north. I didn’t want to pry, but I finally asked what she was doing in the U.S., and how she ended up at a rest area in New Jersey.

“Well, I needed to get away from Montreal for a while, so I packed a few things back in September and flew to New York. I explored the city for a while, and then decided to have an adventure by hitchhiking down to Key West to see the sunset over the Gulf. I never got there because I spent so much time in Washington D.C. and Atlanta with friends. I’ve been on my way home for about a week.”

I asked her if she felt safe hitchhiking and if she experienced any problems.

“Well I guess the whole point of doing it was to meet all kinds of people, and I did that. The good thing was that I didn’t have a schedule or anything, so I wasn’t under any pressure. I’ve been very picky about the people I take a ride from, and you’re an example of that. I don’t think a well-dressed guy driving a huge SUV is going to be a problem.”

I smiled at my first thought, which was that she should tell that to the former shareholders of Enron.

“I had trouble twice, once when I was in Georgia and a real jerk tried to pick me up like I was a prostitute. I also ran into an idiot last night in Baltimore. He was heading up to Albany and seemed ok at first, but he started making stupid jokes about sex and I knew where that could go if I didn’t get out of the car.”

I nodded.

“Basically it’s been great and I don’t want to make it like those two ruined it or anything.”

I asked her where her family was from, which is a politically correct way of figuring out what race someone is. She paused and stared out of her window for a moment before answering.

“My dad was born in Montreal and he took over my grandfather’s import business when he was in his 30’s. He met my mom when he was on business in Hong Kong and they had a long distance relationship for a few years. He brought her back to Canada after they were married and I came along about a year after that. So, to answer what you were really asking, I’m half Chinese, half French Canadian.”

I admitted that my first impression was that she was a Native American mix.

“Yeah, I get that a lot actually. It isn’t always a good thing because they are discriminated against so badly and really misunderstood.”

I asked her if she was close to her parents.

“It’s kind of complicated. My mom and dad fought a lot because she was a super conservative Chinese and he was a swinging-dick Quebecois that flirted with women a lot, even when she was standing right next to him.”

Eve paused.

“Anyway, my mom finally divorced my dad after she caught him in bed with his assistant. She went back to Hong Kong when I was seven years old but she left me with my dad so that I would grow up in Canada and have more opportunities.”

I frowned when I heard this. I’d been divorced for eight years and that happened because of my ex’s failure to commit to me in an exclusive relationship. Unfortunately, this is a common story because of the culture in Quebec. I’d casually dated a few times since the divorce, but I’d been concentrating on my career and wasn’t ever able to find the right person.

“Leaving me was really hard on my mom, but my dad was always very good to me and gave me everything I needed. I have a communications degree and without my dad that wouldn’t have happened, that’s for sure. He died a few years ago and I miss him a lot. My mom is still in Hong Kong and we talk on the phone, but I’ve only visited her a few times.”

Eve turned to face the window again and I drove for a while in silence. When I asked Eve if she had any brothers or sisters and got no reply, I realized that she’d dozed off.

Occasional snowflakes started to hit the windshield when I turned from I-95 onto the Hutch on my way to the Merritt Parkway to avoid I-95 through Connecticut. Eve was dead to the world and I let her sleep rather than waking her to ask her if she was hungry.

As we passed through Hartford the snow started to accumulate and both my bladder and stomach were sending SOS messages. I woke Eve as we merged onto I-84 and asked her if she was ok with a stop for a bathroom and some food.

“Sure Robbie, but I’m buying, Ok?”

I pulled off at the next exit and pulled into a restaurant that looked promising. I helped Eve with her parka as we sat down, and I realized for the first time how petite she really was, as well as how feminine. A sweater and her ski pants kept her exact proportions a mystery; however, it was clear from the swell of her bust line that she was quite well endowed. She had delicate hands and moved with a fluid motion that really got my attention.

I asked Eve how tall she was.

“I’m 151 cm.