Page 51 of The Boyfriend Boycott
Sincerely,
People-First Property Management
I skimthe new rental agreement and my pulse thrums in my ears. The new number at the bottom of the page is staggering. A vice grips my throat as I consider how I could ever pay the amount with the sporadic contracts I’ve been getting. It isn’t even that nice. The place is just an outdated one-bedroom with parquet floors and a tiny galley kitchen on the third floor of an ancient walk-up. But it’s mine. It’s the first home that I felt certain wasn’t going to be taken away from me. Until now.
People-First Property Management.What people? More likeprofit-first. My blood simmers in my veins.
Anger. It’s a more productive feeling than the hopelessness that this turn of events could send me into. Anger sends me into problem-solving mode. I open my browser and scour the classified sites for rentals in the same area. I like that area. It’s familiar to me.
As I filter my search results from least expensive to most expensive, a pit forms in my stomach. The least expensive apartment in the West End is still six hundred more a month than what I’ve be paying.There’s no way I can manage that. Not unless I get this job at Mile High.
Once I have a signed contract, the cost of housing won’t seem as dire, I’m sure of it. I can negotiate a good salary. Sasha promised me that they would compensate me well. It would be a steady income at least, and I could stop fighting tooth and nail just to make ends meet. Once I sign that contract, I will have made it. All by myself, and no one will be able to take that away from me.
I pick my camera up off the counter and plug the memory card into the side of the laptop, clicking through the pop-ups. Maybe looking through photos from the night will help settle my mind. Despite the evening not garnering as much attention from the council as I’d hoped, I did manage to get some great photos that I can include in my portfolio.
The first picture I open is the first one I took of the evening. It’s of Grady. He didn’t know I was taking it and that’s part of what gives it the intimate quality I can see in it now. He’s standing behind the bar, lit from behind, the sleeves of one of the new shirts I picked out for him rolled up around his thick forearms. He’s smiling, the kind that reaches up to his sparkling hazel eyes and it makes my insides feel warm. Grady was happy, in his element, with everyone he loved in one room. Including me. From the very start of the cocktail party that smile never left his face.
All the photos show him this way. The pictures are dark and moody in the dim light of the bar, but Grady’s smile lights them all up. I copy a few to a folder that I’ll send him, that he can use for branding or his social media page.
As I continue sifting through the images, I stumble across a photo I don’t remember taking. In fact, I couldn’t have taken it. The picture is of me. It’s towards the bottom of the folder, so it must have been taken once most people left. When I had left my camera on the table in front of Winnie.
There I am, pulled in close to Grady’s chest, my cheek resting on his peck. I feel like I’m looking at someone else, a person that I don’t even recognize, because the look on my face is …peaceful.Maybe even, dare I say it,in love.
I click the window closed and slam my laptop shut. It doesn’t matter how peaceful, howin loveI look in that moment. I’m not in love. I can’t be. Love is what tears people’s lives apart, and I’ve only just started to build mine into something that feels stable. I told myself I wouldn’t go there, I wouldn’t tread anywhere near that territory. Love has never worked out for me in the past. I think my lineage is cursed when it comes to love.
Now I’m certain that sleep will be impossible. My mind is racing through a list of possible scenarios, envisioning how this thing with Grady is going to end.
Because it will end … eventually. I’m the one who has to do it. Grady is in too deep. I know that for sure now. The way we interacted at the party was far beyond a hook-up relationship. This is no longer just sex. There’s something more, and I know what it is, but I won’t admit it. Not even to myself.
CHAPTER 21
GRADY
The smell hitsme the moment I walk through the door. Everyone knows the smell of a high school gymnasium. The smell of rubber and teenage hormones sent me right back to my own high school years. This was the place where I walked across the small stage when I graduated, and watched Hudson and Jett walk across the stage after me. It’s where I shared my first dance with a girl. It was our prom night. We went outside as the dance was winding down and sat on the bench around the side of the school. I was going to kiss her. I was so close to getting my first real kiss when my phone rang. Dad had gotten a call from the police department saying Jett had been out at a party in the woods and got caught drinking underage and doing God knows what else.He was too busy at the clinic to go and pick Jett up, and no one else was available but me.
I thought I had won the lottery that night. I thought I had won the lottery, and it was ripped out of my hands. I spent weeks ignoring Jett. It was the first and only time I was angry enough to let him know it. He had stolen an opportunity from me that I could never get back. Now I’m back at Heartwood High, in the same spot with Spencer, and I realize that I had no idea back then how good life could get.
The gym looks very different now; they’ve painted a new mural on one side, the image depicting a very predatory-looking bird for the Heartwood Hawks. Although I’m fairly certain whoever did it painted a falcon and not a hawk but that’s what you get in a small town on a budget. The rest of the gym is filled with tables and booths from all the businesses in Heartwood with job openings for new graduates. Some colleges from neighbouring towns are here also, along with a couple of big universities in Calgary. Those booths are popular, judging by the size of the crowd gathering around them. I guess most students recognize that a post-secondary degree is their best ticket out of Heartwood.
There’s a small crowd forming around my booth, too. Though they’re not at all interested in working at Jack’s. They’re more interested in Spencer Sinclair, travel influencer and social media personality. Spencer is chatting with them as if she’s known the group of girls gathered around her for years. There’s something so easy and natural about the way that she talks to her fans. I hear her compliment one of them and the girl blushes, like she just received a compliment from a celebrity. Spencer is a celebrity in a way. With her social media following, most people who use the app either already follow her or they know of her.
Though, the way Spencer carries herself is not what I would expect of someone who has so many people always fawning over her. I spent enough time poring over her social media page last year to know that she doesn’t subscribe to the usual influencer trends, doesn’t take brand deals she doesn’t like, doesn’t post photos for clout. Most of the photos she’s posted are of the places she’s visited, and if she’s in them at all, her back is turned to the camera. Like she would rather hide her face.
“What is your all-time favourite place you’ve ever been?” One of the girls asks her, her expression open and expectant. Theothers are hanging on every word that Spencer has said. I do that, too.
I drop my eyes down to my lap so it doesn’t seem like I’m eavesdropping on their conversation, but I just can’t help it. I want to hear every syllable that comes out of Spencer’s mouth.
“Hmm. That’s a tough question. I think I’d have to say Cappadocia.”
“Cappa-what-ia?” a brace-faced girl asks, and I stifle a laugh because, same.
“It’s in Turkey,” Spencer explains. “They fly hot air balloons there, and I just loved waking up every morning and sitting on my balcony watching them. They dot the sky like stars. Especially when they’re all lit up at night.” At that moment, my stomach drops. It plummets through the floor. Hearing Spencer talk about all the amazing places she’s been and things she’s seen, she’s in a league of her own. Andwayout of mine. I can’t offer her a wild and adventurous life in Heartwood. I’ve barely done any travelling myself. What could I give her here that could ever compare?
In my peripheral vision, one of the girls takes out her phone and starts typing, as if she’s already planning her own trip there.
“The travel is great, it’s the best part of my job. If you decide that you want to do what I do one day, just don’t forget that what you have here in Heartwood is beautiful, too. Don’t forget where you come from. It’s important to have a connection to your roots. You might not see it now, but it is.”
I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face at this. She sounds as if she longs to have a place like Heartwood to call home. Hope blooms in my chest that maybe she’s open to staying. Maybe I can show her that she can have this, too, if she allows it. If she accepts it.
