Page 28 of Dirty December

Aunt Karen was right there with me on the “too good to be true” part. While I packed the few items I had stashed in her spare room, she trailed after me, wailing in a voice that set off the neighbor’s chihuahua. “That little hick town in the mountains sounds too good to be true. You’ve only been there for a weekend! This is a crazy risk, Lib-Lib. You should move in with me. You don’t knowwhyit’s so cheap! I bet all the babies have birth defects! I bet it’s near a nuclear testing site. A sewage station! A slaughterhouse!”

“I stuck around for the summer, Aunt Karen, but I have to go. My lease is signed. My job starts the second week of September. Look, if it’s anything like you said, I’ll move back. I promise.” Imay or may not have had my fingers crossed behind my back at the time.

Chapter Three: Libby

Where was I?

Oh, right. Aunt Karen, She-Who-Is-Hysterical. Despite ear-splitting pleas and the arrival of Renaldo or Rudolpho (some swarthy guy with chest hair that resembled roadkill) in his red Boxster, I tore myself away from Allentown and started my new life.

I moved to Pine Ridge in September. It’s now January and I haven’t seen any babies with two heads, haven’t been exposed to sewage or radiation, and the only unreasonable expense is my coffee addiction. The Pine Loft takes a tenth of my paycheck, but I blame that on my own weakness and the fact that I pass the place on my way home from the clinic. I don’t get out much, but I think Pine Ridge is perfect.

The only thing that would make it better would be a social life.

Oh, I go out with friends—sort of. It really is a small little town. I asked Dr. Peterson, my boss, if he knew of a couple named Sophie and Jesse, and he did. I looked them up and we’ve had dinner a few times.

Everyone is friendly, really.

But people seem... guarded or oblivious. Is that mean to say? I don’t care, it’s true.

There seem to be two kinds of people in this town. Group One includes people who will smile and chat, always super interested in you, but revealing only little, vague basics about themselves. Group Two includes people who smile and chat, talking a ton about themselves, but asking very little about me, the new girl.

I’ve decided, whether I’m right or not, that this bi-oddity (new word, go me) is because I’m new here. This is a tight-knit town, according to Jesse. (His last name turned out to be Smith.) I figure that people don’t want to invest in me too much in case I leave and break their little hearts.

Well, I’ve got nowhere else to go, so I’m staying.

Sophie, who has only been here a few years longer than me, already seems relaxed. I’ve seen her in the store showing off their little boy, surrounded by a gaggle of old granny-types, looking like a queen with the heir to the throne.

Jealousy is a bitch.

I’m not jealous of Sophie! I just... I want a family. I want tofit in. I’ve been a loner for a long time, ever since I started realizing that the poor kids on food stamps with single moms don’tquitefit in, no matter what the teachers said.

So, using the new pastel blue planner my boss had given me for Christmas (stuffed with gift cards to the bookstore, the sushi place, and The Pine Loft), I decided to change that. I had a planner. I was going to plan.

One foggy night last week, with Metallica’sWhiskey in a Jarblaring as I savored my on-the-way-home cup of coffee, I opened the planner and actually looked at it.

It was pretty straightforward. There were spaces for monthly, weekly, and daily notations. I flipped past the first two weeks of January and discovered a Goals and To-Do Lists section. Dr. Peterson had even left me another present. “Oh, my gosh. I love my boss.” Two vinyl sticker collections, both full of metal band logos from the eighties! I would have to ask him where he got such a perfect gift.

But back to the to-do list. I grabbed the matching baby blue gel pen that was stuck through a loop on the side of the planner and wrote:

Have a social life.

Stop living on coffee, cheese puffs, bananas, and sushi.

Find a club.

Get a date.

Chapter Four: Milo

There aren’t any other minotaur families in Pine Ridge. The only female minotaur in town is my mother. When we traveled to Greece for my brother’s wedding, there were gorgeous girls everywhere. Girl minotaurs, I mean.

I wasn’t into them.

After the reception, my dad sat me down on the back of the private yacht my new sister-in-law’s family had chartered. My father was a little tipsy. (It takes a LOT of ouzo and champagne to make a minotaur tipsy, in case you’re wondering.) He asked me if I was into bulls instead of cows, and I told him no. Then he asked if there was someone back in Pine Ridge that had my heart. I told him no. He asked if I was one of those aromantic types, only he was slurring so it sounded like he asked if I wasaromatic.After I sniffed at my suit for a few minutes, I told him I didn’t smell like I’d bathed in anise, which is what drinking too much ouzo makes you smell like.

By that time, my mom came back on deck, looking for us. My father got this completely unhinged, lustful look in his eyes and started chasing her around the boat.

I was severely tempted to jump overboard and swim ashore.

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