Page 15 of Chasing Home

I’m already late for work. I don’t have to look at my phone again to know that. My alarm didn’t go off, and I knew the moment I saw how late it was into the morning that I wasn’t going to make it in on time, regardless of how fast I moved. The apologetic text I sent off to Anna before I got into the shower was met with a sweet, understanding reply that made me feel even more like shit.

I’m too old to be rushing into work late. Thirty is far too close to thirty-five to be as big of a mess as I am. It’s not answers I should be chasing, but rather a real life. A family to come home to every night and a plan for our future. Marriage, RRSPs, and Crock-Pot dinners that everyone groans at the sight of. Not living off savings and small paycheques all alone in a nowhere town surrounded by strangers.

My entire life plan was laid perfectly before I took off to come here, and now . . . now, I fear I’ve screwed myself and that very plan with my impulse decision. Back home, my life is even more of a mess than it is here.

The job I loved, gone. My relationship with my mother, also gone. Each pill has grown harder to swallow, and now I’m positive another will choke me.

I wrap the thin towel around my body and blink back the tears that have built in my eyes, refusing to let them fall. I’ve self-inflicted this loneliness. But it’s all I know. The only person I’ve ever really let in is my mom, and now, the thought of talking to her fills me with poison.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a closed-off person. There’s no exact reason for it. No trauma or deep-rooted insecurity. It’s just who I am. But in moments like these, where I sit and wonder what I have to show for my life, it hits me that I have nothing and no one.

It should be easy to decide to change that. To go out and make a shit ton of friends and find a position at a new job where I’ll feel even half as fulfilled as the one I left behind. But it’s not that easy. It’s terrifying as hell. Not to mention impossible with my current plans, or lack thereof.

“Get a grip, Rory,” I mutter.

With a scowl, I finish drying off and get ready. Ten minutes later, I’m rushing out the door with my wet hair twisted into a low bun and my face bare. My thick thighs eat the inner material of my denim shorts through the entire walk to the salon, and I pull them back down for the millionth time before stepping inside.

Anna’s quick to turn to me as the door chimes. Her hair is down today, the caramel-brown length of it brushing the tops of her shoulders in soft waves. She smiles at me and lifts the comb in her hand.

“Morning, sunshine!”

I lift half of my mouth into a weak smile. “Morning. I’m sorry for being late.”

“It happens to the best of us. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.”

“And how have you been doing, sweetie?” an older, raspier voice asks.

The woman sitting in the leather chair in front of Anna is too familiar not to recognize. I’ve only met Eliza Steele briefly, but she’s unforgettable. If she’s not at Thistle and Thorn getting her hair done, she’s here to chat with Anna or around town mingling with every single person she sees. A people person in its purest form, Eliza’s presence is a Cherry Peak staple.

Anna swaps the comb in her fingers with the scissors that are expertly tucked alongside it. She laughs every time I say something about the speed at which she flips between scissors and comb, but I’ll never stop being in awe of it.

“I’m good,” I tell Eliza.

A thin eyebrow jumps with disbelief. “I’m all ears, my love. How is an old woman supposed to stay entertained during a haircut if there’s no gossip?”

I move into the small lunchroom long enough to drop my purse on the table before joining them again. Eliza catches my eye in the mirror, her gaze soft yet curious.

“Doesn’t Anna have gossip for you?” I ask.

Anna snorts. “I do, but apparently, it isn’t interesting enough for her.”

Eliza beams, clearly enjoying their banter. “You know it is, honey. I’m just a nosey Nelly.”

“Am I allowed to agree with you?” Anna teases.

“I wouldn’t have said it if you weren’t. You know better than to ask such silly questions.”

Anna smiles, carefully snipping a small chunk of Eliza’s silver hair before grabbing another between her fingers and running her comb through it. “Have I ever told you about Aurora’s fancy university degree, Eliza?”

A loud gasp fills the salon. “No! Please tell me more.”

I grow hot, my cheeks flushing from the sudden change in topic. I’m more shocked than embarrassed when I realize Anna really was paying attention the other day when I explained how I was so easily able to comb through the budget she left open on the main computer last week and create improvements for her in the same hour. It was easier than anything I did at my last job, but it was still a great confidence boost to know I hadn’t forgotten anything.

“I’m just good with numbers,” I say bluntly.

Anna shakes her head, her hair whipping back and forth. “No. You’re incredible with them.” Snaring Eliza’s eyes in the mirror, she adds, “Not only did she create three different budgeting plans for Thistle and Thorn, but she also helped me organize the mess of receipts and invoices in my desk and curated an entire system for them. She’s a lifesaver.”

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