Page 11 of Love Her

“Maybe we can make a pact. We’ll both try to make new friends who will make us smile and laugh.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Guilt hits me in the gut. There isn’t a chance in hell I’ll ever make a friend in Lexington. The minute I step outside the front door of this house, I’m reminded just how much this town hates me.

When I was a little girl, Cinderella was my favorite fairy tale. My Christmas list for three years was mice. That’s it. No dolls or doll houses for me. Of course, I didn’t want to actually own mice, but I thought if I had them there was a high probability my fairy godmother would appear, and Prince Charming would sweep me off my feet.

My mom refused to allow mice in the house. Someone looking at life through rose-colored glasses may have thought my college advisor was a fairy godmother for suggesting I take Introduction to Statistics my freshman year in college. That someone would be wrong. That class led to me meeting a man I thought was Prince Charming. If only I had known he was really more like the big bad wolf.

Shaking off the thought, I decide to go for a casual business look and snag a pair of black pants from the hanger and step into them. A teal sleeveless top and cardigan complete the look. Now, flats or heels? My instinct is heels because that would dress up the outfit, but the idea of torturing my feet is less intriguing.

Instead, I slide my feet into my favorite pair of flats before heading for the kitchen. I can hear my parents laughing with the kids and my heart is full at the sound. While I long for a house of my own, a place we can create new memories of our own, I will miss moments like this. What I won’t miss is stumbling upon my dad in the middle of the night wearing only his boxers while sneaking ice cream.

That’s why I have to nail this interview and start earning a living. I spent the last three years working my tail off in school to get to a point where I can support my kids. This job is the first step in that direction.

“Well look at you fancy pants,” my mom says with a smirk on her face. Rolling my eyes, I make a beeline for the coffee maker and pour myself a cup.

“Mom, you look pretty. Do you have a date?”

Choking on my coffee, I grab the hand towel on the counter and pat my face before turning my attention to my inquisitive eight-year-old. “Jacob, what do you know about dates?”

Shrugging, he turns his attention back to his bowl of cereal and says, “Kyle’s mom goes on lots of dates.”

“That’s awesome for her. I’m not interested in dating. Besides, if I need a handsome fella to take me out for pizza, you’re my number one.”

“You only like taking Jacob because he eats all your olives,” Clem sasses.

Placing a kiss to the top of her head, I whisper, “I love you, honey. Try to have a wonderful day and keep positive.”

Silently nodding, I glance to my mom, who is looking at my daughter with sympathy. I would never want to go back to the pre-teen years, the middle school days of hormones and uncertainty. But, I’d do it for my daughter if it meant she wouldn’t have to hurt again.

“Okay, family. How do I look?” I ask with my arms wide, hope in my heart that I don’t look like a fool.

Standing, my dad wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a loud smacking kiss to the cheek. “Like you’re going to slay this interview.”

“Thanks, Pop. Wish me luck.”

To a chorus of well wishes, I make my way out the door and to the small SUV parked on the street. Or, my mom’s old SUV. My parents will never admit it, but they had no reason to splurge on a new car just weeks after the kids and I moved in with them. Yet, they did and as a result I haven’t been without a vehicle. Thank goodness. I may have changed a lot in the last few years but I’m still not a fan of public transportation.

Another downside to living in a rural part of the state is the distance between towns. Driving thirty miles each way isn’t ideal, but this is one of the first jobs the placement agency has had for me that could actually put my certificate to use. I allow myself to enjoy the time and flip the station from the one the kids like to my own.

It isn’t long before I’m belting out the tunes like I’m a concert headliner. Thankfully, I’m alone because there isn’t a person on this planet who would say I have a good singing voice. That much was evident in elementary school. No, others were good, and some were even great. I was neither. But, in this car I’m the best. And today, that’s perfect.

The sign welcoming me to Burlington has me grinning like a loon and nerves flutter in my belly. I want this job. I need this job. It may be listed as a receptionist position, but I did my research. This is a popular and well-respected practice. If I can offer more than just answering the phones, maybe it’ll be a win-win for everyone.

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