Page 1 of Truck Me

Chapter 1

Lists are life.

Charlotte

Ten reasons I’m in hell:

1. I’m thirty years old and moved back in with my parents.

2. I haven’t slept well in ten days. (Probably because I’m sleeping on a twin-sized mattress that’s almost as old as me. Yes, it’s in my childhood bedroom that is still decorated the same as it was when I was twelve. I’m surrounded by princesses.)

3. I’m unemployed.

4. This town smells.

5. My hair is a frizzy mess. I’m out of my favorite hair product, and there’s nowhere I can buy it locally.

6. My niece is making me watch Barbie movies because she thinks it will help her relate to me.

7. I stepped on a rock in my favorite Jimmy Choo heels and twisted my ankle.

8. My parents’ washing machine died on me in the middle of a load.

9. The only functioning washing machine at the only laundromat in a twenty-mile radius also died on me in the middle of a load.

10. I’m hungry and there’s nowhere to get food.

To say I’m having a bad day is an understatement.

More like a bad start to my year.

It’s only February—Valentine’s Day to be exact—and all my goals for the year are impossible to achieve. I am one giant epic failure.

I had it all planned out. My list was perfection.

Or so I thought before the douche bag I called my boyfriend shit on my list—and me—and all my dreams.

First, I was going to get engaged. That didn’t happen, and for the first time in over seven years, I’m alone on Valentine’s Day. Yay me!

Then I was going to open my own hair salon in Chicago. Married and a business owner by thirty has been my number one goal for the past nine years. This was supposed to be my year. The one I’ve been planning for my entire adult life.

Instead, I’m single, jobless, and sitting in a rundown laundromat with zero working washing machines, waiting for the repairman to show up. The manager on duty promised he would be here in less than fifteen minutes. That was forty minutes ago.

If I have to keep breathing through my mouth to survive the sour stench in the air, I’m going to pass out. I never realized until now how hard it is to breathe through my mouth for an extended period of time. But it’s either this or breathe in the lovely smell from the paper mill thirty miles north of us. Why the wind always seems to blow south is beyond me.

I’ve been gone long enough that I forgot how bad it smelled here.

I moved to Chicago about a year after graduating high school. I’d attended the county vocational school for cosmetology because I was eager to jump start a career. I’d learned a lot while there, but not the cool, trendy stuff that was being taught in larger cities. So, I headed off to Chicago to train with some of the best.

Until just before Christmas, I thought my life was on track. I thought I had it all.

Boy was I wrong.

I went from a posh master-stylist position where I styled the rich and famous to sitting in a rundown laundromat with frizzy hair.

At least I remembered to bring my notebook so I can make a list about how much this change sucks.

Silly? Maybe. But I don’t care. Without my lists, I cannot function.

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