Page 3 of A Fighting Chance

A little of everything?

How long do I really want to stay?

As long as my sister needs me to, I decide in the same moment. Within reason, of course. Whatever that is.

I pack an assortment of items, deciding it’s good enough for now. If I wind up without something, I’ll just go shopping for it.

After I finish packing, I email some of my needy clients who like to stay in constant contact. I let them know I’ll be traveling over the next day but all deadlines will be met, no services will be interrupted, and I’ll be accessible just as soon as I settle in.

Then, I text my best friend Cora about the ordeal.

Me:Harper is getting a divorce. I have to go back home for a while.

Cora:OMG

Me:I know, I’ll fill you in later. Can I pack you in my suitcase?

Cora:If it gets me off this date…

Me:OMG. Pretend this is an emergency and bail!

Cora:What? Your goldfish died? I’ll be right there!

Me:Flushing Sir Winston at dusk.

Cora:LOL, travel safe. Let me know when you’ve made it.

Poor Cora.

The woman is gorgeous. I meangorgeous. But for whatever reason, she has absolute shit luck in her dating life. I’ll never understand it. She’s also my only friend in the city so, aside from my clients, she’s the only person I feel the need to inform of my leaving. I try not to dwell on how sad I find that.

The rest of the day passes rather uneventfully. I text Harper, checking in with her and updating her on my travel arrangements. She lets me know my old room has been freshened up for my arrival. In southern terms,freshened upmeans more like all the bedding has been washed—even though no one’s slept there—and everything’s been dusted and swept. She’s likely even added fresh flowers to the vase on my dresser.

Good ol’ southern hospitality.

I can confirm there’s nothing quite like it. In the first three days after moving to Boston, I must have been shoulder-checked walking down the sidewalk more than half a dozen times and no one even looked up, let alone muttered a half-hearted apology in my direction. It took me a little while to get used to. Despite their big city indifference, I tried to keep my engrained manners. My nan would have smacked me in the back of my head, or worse, if she thought I was being anything less than the southern lady she raised me to be.

I sit all my bags next to the door. One large suitcase I will definitely have to check. My carry-on laptop bag, which is stuffed with charger cords, my iPad, and all electronics necessary for daily function. My purse with all my essentials. Wallet, contacts, backup glasses, and cash. I tick everything off the checklist in my mind, feeling confident I haven’t forgotten anything. I even remember to schedule a car to pick me up in the morning and take me to the airport, rather than trying to get one last minute. I’m feeling pretty good about my overall preparedness.

I return to my bedroom and sit on the edge of my bed, flopping myself back and letting out a long sigh. Then a thought occurs to me.

I sit back up and eye the second drawer of my bedside table. I debate back and forth before opening it.

I am a woman, okay? There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

It’s the drawer I keep my vibrator in.

How long will I be gone?

What if I need…relief?

Should I…bring it?

Would it be inappropriate?

I mean, I don’t have to announce it to anyone. But hello, I am a single woman. Sure, I manage a date here and there for sexual relief, but continued gratification comes atmyhand. I chortle.

Comes at my hand.

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