Page 2 of The Minotaur's Valentine

“There’s nothing cheap about New York, Libby!” Aunt Karen had lectured a few months ago, her thin arms crossed over her bony chest, staring at me with her wild, not-all-there eyes before turning back to her blaring television.

My godmother is a lot like a feral cat, whereas me, I’m a stray. She didn’t want to take me in, and I didn’t want to stay with her. When she and my mother were best friends back in high school, “Aunt Karen” became my godmother. Then my mom went to work at a daycare where I could come for free, and Aunt Karen moved in with a way-older guy, discovered daytime television, and developed a taste for flavored vodkas. By the time my mom passed away when I was eighteen, Aunt Karen was all alone. Rich, lecherous “Uncle Amir” had been done in by a spectacular cardiac arrest in a strip joint while choking on a cigar and trying to get change from a five out of a neon bikini.

I didn’t want to live with Aunt Karen, even sans the not-so-dearly-departed Uncle Amir, so I was a stray. On my own, surviving on scraps of part-time jobs, and a few months of my mother’s Social Security benefits before they cut me off.

I went to a cheap college and lived on campus. Antonia College isn’t the jewel of the state education system, so they offer perks for coming back each semester, and bonuses when you take summer classes. I had no complaints. I think Antonia is kind of feral, too. It’s in the Endless Mountains of Pennsylvania. It likes to hide from prying eyes, but if you show it a little love, it’s decent.

When I graduated with an animal science degree, I found a job as a vet tech. I found a cheap apartment in a cheap town.

Aunt Karen had lectured more when I made my dutiful pilgrimage to see her after graduation. She blew cigarette smoke at her enormous flat screen, obscuring the evil face of a pseudo-psychologist who embarrassed people on television for money. “It’s a scam. You’ll see.”

“It’s not a scam. I know people from Pine Ridge. We were buddies in college.”

That was a stretch, but Aunt Karen didn’t need to know that. When I was a freshman, there was a gorgeous, adorable melanin-challenged couple, Sophie-Something and Jesse-Something Else. They were seniors, and already engaged. Because of the dismal size of Antonia’s enrollment, seniors and freshmen were often in the same electives. We ended up in Literature of Ancient Civilization together, sitting in the back row during evening classes. (I worked afternoons at a little taco joint in town.) When we were forced to introduce ourselves during one of the weekly “Pair-and-Share” events the professor had coordinated to discuss Aeschylus and Enheduanna, I told them I was from Allentown, Pennsylvania. It turned out Sophie was from Philadelphia, making us practically neighbors. Jesse was from Pine Ridge, New York, right over the state line.

Sophie and Jesse made his town sound like a dream come true—friendly, little, full of beautiful people and places. They never mentioned how affordable it was, but when you’re bored in class and you start looking up random crap on your phone... Well, I couldn’t believe my screen.

Sophie and Jesse were planning to get their own place after graduation. They showed me some of the houses they were looking at one night when the antiquated overhead projector overheated and the professor insisted we all sit and wait patiently for it to cool off enough to come back to life.

That’s right. I said two college seniors were buying a house. At first I figured one of them must’ve had money, but then a little more talking and a little more squinting at the phone revealed that Pine Ridge real estate seemed to be quite a bargain.

And if they could afford a mortgage, maybe I could afford to rent a room. Or even a whole apartment with a kitchen?

My other option was moving in with Aunt Karen, who had started telling me that I should try to find a “sugar daddy.” Uncle Amir 2.0, or a town that sounded too good to be true? I was going to gamble on something that at least sounded like it wouldn’t induce vomiting.

Aunt Karen was right there with me on the “too good to be true” part. While I packed the few items I had stashed in her spare room, she trailed after me, wailing in a voice that set off the neighbor’s chihuahua. “That little hick town in the mountains sounds too good to be true. You’ve only been there for a weekend! This is a crazy risk, Lib-Lib. You should move in with me. You don’t know why it’s so cheap! I bet all the babies have birth defects! I bet it’s near a nuclear testing site. A sewage station! A slaughterhouse!”

“I stuck around for the summer, Aunt Karen, but I have to go. My lease is signed. My job starts the second week of September. Look, if it’s anything like you said, I’ll move back. I promise.” I may or may not have had my fingers crossed behind my back at the time.

Chapter Three: Libby

Where was I?

Oh, right. Aunt Karen, She-Who-Is-Hysterical. Despite ear-splitting pleas and the arrival of Renaldo or Rudolpho (some swarthy guy with chest hair that resembled roadkill) in his red Boxster, I tore myself away from Allentown and started my new life.

I moved to Pine Ridge in September. It’s now January and I haven’t seen any babies with two heads, haven’t been exposed to sewage or radiation, and the only unreasonable expense is my coffee addiction. The Pine Loft takes a tenth of my paycheck, but I blame that on my own weakness and the fact that I pass the place on my way home from the clinic. I don’t get out much, but I think Pine Ridge is perfect.

The only thing that would make it better would be a social life.

Oh, I go out with friends—sort of. It really is a small little town. I asked Dr. Peterson, my boss, if he knew of a couple named Sophie and Jesse, and he did. I looked them up and we’ve had dinner a few times.

Everyone is friendly, really.

But people seem... guarded or oblivious. Is that mean to say? I don’t care, it’s true.

There seem to be two kinds of people in this town. Group One includes people who will smile and chat, always super interested in you, but revealing only little, vague basics about themselves. Group Two includes people who smile and chat, talking a ton about themselves, but asking very little about me, the new girl.

I’ve decided, whether I’m right or not, that this bi-oddity (new word, go me) is because I’m new here. This is a tight-knit town, according to Jesse. (His last name turned out to be Smith.) I figure that people don’t want to invest in me too much in case I leave and break their little hearts.

Well, I’ve got nowhere else to go, so I’m staying.

Sophie, who has only been here a few years longer than me, already seems relaxed. I’ve seen her in the store showing off their little boy, surrounded by a gaggle of old granny-types, looking like a queen with the heir to the throne.

Jealousy is a bitch.

I’m not jealous of Sophie! I just... I want a family. I want to fit in. I’ve been a loner for a long time, ever since I started realizing that the poor kids on food stamps with single moms don’t quite fit in, no matter what the teachers said.

So, using the new pastel blue planner my boss had given me for Christmas (stuffed with gift cards to the bookstore, the sushi place, and The Pine Loft), I decided to change that. I had a planner. I was going to plan.

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