Page 2 of Roughing It

I talked to Flor about how it felt at the time, but it’s difficult for her to really relate. She’ll never understand what it’s like to be in my shoes when her own parents doted on her.

She’s my favorite person in the entire world—most days. But she’s also used to a very different life than the one I’ve led. She’d gone from a spoiled childhood to an Ivy League education to a rich husband. She’s always had the love and support of her parents, which allowed her to follow her passions, and the money not to stress about it when she wanted to quit a job or trek around the world to “find herself.”

I, on the other hand, went to a state school on loans and worked a pizza-delivery job so I could eat more than ramen while I finished my MBA, and I’m lucky if I hear from my mom or dad more than twice a year.

And while Flor works at a charity for peanuts because she doesn’tneedthat income to pay her rent, I slog away behind a desk at an architecture firm for barely more than a livable wage. It’s a miracle when I can pay more than the minimums on my credit cards every month, and that only happens if I get in a full sixty hours a week.

But I’m starting to crack under the pressure of this life, and I know it. I just don’t think that going up to the mountains is the best idea. I’m really not into fresh air or animals or bugs.

I shudder. Ihatebugs.

“I don’t think falling off a horse and breaking my neck this weekend sounds like a good time, so… thanks, but no, thanks,” I tell her.

“Eden.” She sighs out my name like I’m the most exhausting person on the planet, drawing out the vowels—which is impressive since my name only has the two. “I’ll be by to pick you up in the morning at the ass-crack of dawn, so you’d better be out of bed. I’ll have coffee. Oh, and don’t worry about riding boots. I have a pair you can borrow.”

Then she justhangs up, like it doesn’t matter what I want.

Which is completely consistent with our entire lives.

When it comes to the people I love, I’ve always been a people pleaser, and it doesn’t take an advanced degree to see the neon sign pointing at my parents for the reason why. And while I’ve been working on getting better about not just letting her walk all over me, I can never hold on to my annoyance because when push comes to shove, shealwayshas my back.

She can be pushy and selfish and a complete brat, but she also loves fiercely and with her whole soul, and I know I’m damn lucky to have her as my ride or die.

And in this instance, I’d probably resent her more if she didn’t have my best interest at heart. The whole reason she wants to go on this ridiculous trip is because she can see I’m struggling. Most of her ideas—good and bad—are to help me dig myself out of whatever hole I’ve fallen into.

Which, apparently, her solution to this one is a mountain lodge trip riding horses and hiking and… whatever other nonsense she’s cooked up. And itwillend in my demise because I have no sense of balance or grace and never have. If I thought she had a truly mean bone in her body, I’d say she was trying to kill me and make it look like an accident.

I suppose if I play it safe, I can survive the trip, and she isn’t wrong. I do need to get away for a bit. Hell, maybe I’m wrong about the whole bugs and animals thing. Maybe a drive up to the mountains is just the thing I need to recalibrate.

I close my laptop and set it aside before settling farther into my couch and sighing. Maybe if I whine enough, she’ll leave me to my own devices. I can flirt with a hot stranger at the bar, maybe have a weekend fling with some rich, handsome man that I never plan to see again. Then he’ll show up randomly one day at my apartment and—

Okay, ugh,no.

This has been happening ever since Flor and Sage met.

The pair of them were like a disgusting rom-com. Flor had disappeared to St. Aimee’s—an island full of resorts for the frivolously rich—after a bad breakup and some trouble at work the year before, and Sage had been there with his old college buddies for a bachelor party.

They’d spent the whole weekend hate-fucking their way into love, and though it was supposed to end, it hadn’t. Sage had shown up at her place with a half-eaten fast-food meal and sappy speech about how four days could never be enough for them, that he needed an entire lifetime.

Six months later, I was standing beside them at the courthouse for their spur-of-the-moment wedding.

Since then, I’ve started to feel weird little bursts of hope about that sort of whirlwind romance happening for someone like me, which is ridiculous. I’ve never been the kind of woman those sort of things happen to, and I’ve never wanted that either. Following your heart gets you nothing but hurt. I prefer logic and reason when it comes to my relationships, even if I still kind of suck at choosing men and keep getting myself into situations like what happened with John.

Maybe things that happen to Flor would happen to me too if my looks and personality weren’t so… unconventional, to put it politely. At the very least, I can say with certainty I wouldn’t have fit in with Flor’s sorority, and I always feel like a fish out of water whenever she invites me to events at her family’s country club.

I’m five feet tall—if I stand on my toes—and my mom likes to use the word “willowy” to describe my lack of hourglass figure. I’m not purposefully rude or anything like that, but I’m blunt, and I tend to swear a lot when I get upset or excited about something, and I lack a lot of the social graces men in the corporate world seem to prefer.

But whatever.

It’s not like I want to date any of those frat boy rejects anyway. Been there, done that. Never again.

With a groan, I rub my face and try and shove myself out of my melancholy. I’m not usually such a morose person. It’s only when my job keeps me running to the point where I could literally fall asleep on my feet that I start getting emotional.

In reality, I could probably kiss both Flor and Sage for setting this weekend up because I’m in desperate need of getting away. Mountains or not.

I mean, it’s not just the crap with John or my work schedule either. Over the holidays—on the two entire days I managed to take off work—I was inundated with news about my cousins all getting married or having babies. I’d felt the heavy weight of my mother’s gaze every time someone else made an announcement. She hadn’t said anything, of course, but I knew it was just one more way in which I’d failed in her eyes. I hadn’t told Flor, but even though my mom—or dad—hadn’t called since that painful trip home, my mom had oh so thoughtfully forwarded me every email she’d gotten from her sisters containing pictures of their grandbabies. Most of the time, she didn’t even bother including a message of her own.

I’m pretty sure I put up with John’s shitty way of treating me for far longer than I would have just because of those emails. It was my own silent rebellion against her plans for me, but the only one who ended up feeling bad in the end was me.

---