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1
MIA
There’s a certain kind of exhaustion that only comes from a full day of travel. I’m feeling every bit of it as I pull up the snow-crusted road leading to my little rental cabin.
If anyone back at culinary school found out what I did this morning, I’d probably have my degree immediately revoked. In my defense, I’ve always been tempted by the subtle siren call of gas station sushi. Call me crazy, but I just wanted to know. What if it was actually good? What if I was the brave soul who stepped into previously uncharted territory for the rest of America?
The only place I ended up stepping was every single rest area on my road trip. Every smelly, questionably maintained rest area. Every little truck stop hole in the wall.
Never again.
But it’s over now. I survived.
I’m driving slowly along the frozen roads just off Frosty Harbor’s main strip until I pull up to the rental cabin. My stomach gives a little grumble—whether it’s a grumble of exhaustion, relief, or warning, I don’t even know. I’m not currently on speaking terms with my stomach after the full-blown tantrum it has thrown all day.
I ignore the gurgles and step out of the car, nearly fall on my ass, and then smile wide.
My best friends are waiting for me and they’re both doing happy taps like two dogs excited to see their owner after a long work day. I’m doing the happy taps too.
Caroline, in all of her five foot-nothing glory, rushes up to me and hugs me tight. “You made it! Welcome back home!”
Andi is right behind her, beaming. Her jet black hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s bundled up like it’s the Arctic. She hugs me tight and I can feel she’s shivering. Two years of living here apparently isn’t enough to get her accustomed to the cold.
“Let’s see this place,” Andi says, sounding cheerful. “I had no idea your Grams had rental properties. This is cute, too. It’s like a cabin, but almost smack dab in the middle of downtown. How cool!”
Even though I’ve been on the phone with both of them almost every day and visited, it feels so nice to know I’m back for good this time. At least I hope to be, assuming I land this job interview.
“Yeah,” I say. “Right?” I fish for the key in my jacket pocket. “Grams used to joke that it would be a great way to collect voyeur footage of people having sex. Spy cameras in the bedrooms and…” I trail off at the horrified looks on my friends’ faces, then laugh. “I’m sure she was just kidding,” I say quickly.
“Well,” Caroline says with a shrug. “At least you don’t have any sex life to worry about being spied on. That’s a plus.”
“Oh, come on,” Andi says. “I bet she still has that really cool vibrator. Didn’t she give it a name, or something? Mateo, right? If you name your vibrator, that’s basically a romantic relationship.”
“And this is exactly why I stopped telling you two my secrets.” I give them both a sour look, but can’t help grinning a bit. I spent the last two years away from home, and I didn’t realize how much I missed being with my friends in person like this.
My improving mood falters when I unlock the door and push it open. The coffee table in front of the couch has two greeting cards on it.
“Why are there two?” I ask slowly.
As soon as I see them, I realize all the little warning signs I hadn’t registered from Grams leading up to this moment. The amused tone of her voice when she talked about the rental. Her unusual willingness to cut me discount after discount until I agreed to stay here instead of Caroline’s bed and breakfast, which had been the original plan. Even her highly uncharacteristic call earlier today to make sure I was still on my way.
Grams was up to something, and the second greeting card makes it all click into place with a sickening weight in my stomach.
Andi walks slowly toward the table, folding her arms as she stares down at the cards. Caroline, for some reason, is lingering in the doorway with her hands shoved in her pockets. Guilty, too. I don’t know what they planned, but Caroline looks like she was absolutely in on it.
“Why are there two?” I repeat. I’m still too afraid to pick them up and read them. Somehow, I know I’m not going to like what I find on those cards.
“Maybe her marbles are rounding out a bit?” Andi suggests.
“What?” Caroline asks. “That’s not even a phrase, Andi. Marbles are already round.” Caroline is running her hands through a section of her wild and thick brown hair as if she’s trying to will it to be straight. It’s a nervous habit she’s had for as long as I’ve known her. She notices me watching, then pushes up her glasses and jerks her hands away from her hair, folding them.
Andi taps her chin thoughtfully. She has perfect ivory colored skin and big, expressive eyes. Her cheeks are still stained patchy red from the cold. “Okay,” she says. “Then do you think your Grams’ marbles are flattening out a bit?”
I pick up the greeting cards, barely listening to them banter back and forth. The first card is to me.
Mia,
It’s your Grams. Actually, this is a piece of paper your Grams wrote on. So this is not your Grams, but it’s her words. Welcome to my little slice of blah blah bullshit bullshit, please enjoy your blah blah. Look, kid. I expect my money in cold hard cash so I don’t have to let the tax man know I got it, understand? And remember–If you go to sleep with an itchy ass, you’re going to wake up with smelly fingers.
