My finger hovers over the left-click, mouse cursor poised on “Place Bid.”
“Talk me out of it, Charlie,” I say, glancing at the ducky as I come up with a big list of pros and cons.
Colorado is good and far away from both Atlanta and New York, so there’s no chance of running into Jason or Alexis.
You’ll be isolated coming into a small town as an outsider, but it’s also a fresh start. No one will know you.
Closer to Mom…not sure if that’s a pro or con. Both, I guess.
Colorado is pretty.
Hot spring sounds pretty dang nice. I could go for a dip right now.
I swallow down the rest of my drink and flap my lips.
“Fuck it, why not.”
A sharp sound jerks me upward. I glance around, mouth dry from liquor and sweet from noodles. My head is pounding. I push my chair back and glare at Charlie, whose glass is empty, too.
“You damn duck, got me drunk,” I mumble.
I grab my pack and stumble to the break room. The water from the standing cooler is fresh and quenches the ache in my throat. I guzzle back as much as will fit in my stomach and then find my toothbrush. The mint clashes with my mistakes and I stare at the wall as tears burn behind my eyes.
I worked too much. I was never home. I didn’t care enough about his art. I was too driven to succeed in my own ventures. I didn’t love him enough.
A silent sob tightens my throat and hot tears streak my cheeks.
No matter how much time you spent at work, no matter how often you were gone, that does not excuse what he did. You don’t deserve this.
I spit into the sink and let myself cry, loud and pathetic-like. After a few minutes, I’m dried up. Either because I’m actually dehydrated, or I’m just too exhausted. I wash up and go back to my office.
There’s a red “5” icon hanging over my email when my computer wakes from sleep. I open my inbox and my stomach bottoms out as I recall my hazy, whisky-fueled decision.
Congratulations, Hot Spring Owner!
two
Bum-Fuck-Nowhere Colorado
“Mom, I’m already on the road,” I say for the seventh time as she tells—not asks—me to reconsider leaving Jason behind in New York.
“Hija, you should’ve told me about this sooner, we could’ve fixed it,” her voice blares from the speakers of my RAV4. I turn down the volume again.
“There’s nothing to fix. He was fucking my assistant,” I say for the…hell…fiftieth time?
I bump along the winding Colorado mountain road with my little trailer of “roughing it” supplies hitched to the back. The mountainside is crispy from the summer sun, leaving a bit to be desired in terms of greenery. Still better than the smelly streets of a bustling city, I guess.
My mother scoffs. “Every man cheats at least once. It’s just about how you punish him for it and get him back in line.”
“I’m not his drill sergeant, Mom. I don’t want to ‘get him in line.’”
She sighs. “This is my fault.”
“What? How?”
“I obviously didn’t prepare you well enough for the world.”
I grit my teeth and the crazy girl takes the reins. “So, what did you do to punish Dad when he cheated?”
