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My breath hitches and sweat beads on my forehead despite the chill in the air.
“If I had Ruby Jones in my bed, I’d keep her for longer than a year,” Charlie says.
“Meh,” Junior says.
Meh?It takes everything in me to not tear in there and…well, I don’t know what I’d do, so I just keep standing here listening.
“No, sheisa great lay,” Junior says. “And I’m not quite ready to give that up…but the real prize at the end of the rainbow is all this land. After we sayI do, it will be mine.”
My hands are shaking as I lift them to my mouth, trying to stay quiet.
“You mean you and Ruby will own it,” Charlie corrects.
“Nope.” Junior laughs. “I mean, her parents can’t see pasttheir peace and love bullshit—they don’t have a clue what they’ve signed.”
“Fuck,” Charlie mutters. “How the hell did you do that with a clear conscience, bro?”
“Pretty easily,” Junior says.
“Does that idiot that’s always following her around come to bed with you too?” Mitch cracks up at himself.
I’ve heard more than enough.
And the sad part about it is that I’m not even completely surprised.
“Life is a highway,” I sing at the top of my lungs.
This wouldn’t be my first choice of music to listen to right now, but my dad sent me this song after we went through aCarsmovie phase together, so it’ll always be special to me. And I guess it’s fitting since I’ve been driving since just after noon and it’s seven thirty now. Either way, these mountain roads are curvy, and I don’t dare risk messing with my playlist.
I’ve made a few stops along the way and avoided a lot of phone calls. I was tempted to throw my phone out the window when I drove across Colorado’s state line, but that felt foolish. I did, however, make sure my location was turned off.
“You’re doing good, Jolene.” I pat the steering wheel of my beloved RV, admiring the way she’s hauling herself and the trailer attached up these mountains.
I’ve been working on Jolene for the better part of a year, getting out all my HGTV energy on this passion project. My parents wanted to sell our family camper, but I was too attached to it. No, I didn’t love the orange floral wallpaperand orange Formica tabletop or the excessive use of brown…everything, but I loved all the memories we’d made in this thing. And I had a vision for what it could become.
I’d call it a vintage vehicle, except I feel vintage evokes images of silver Airstreams or those dainty red camper Christmas tree ornaments.
This is not that.
You’d never know it from the brown and orange pinstripe on the outside, but inside my petite 1979 Class C RV is a white and pale pink homey oasis. After I removed the circular burnt orange chairs and stripped the wallpaper and the brown shag carpet, I had a clean canvas to work with and a clearer perspective of how to accomplish it. The white subway tile in the kitchen area makes a huge difference, as does all the white shelving and the built-in couch with the pale pink cushions and throw pillows. A long plush runner lets the maple plank flooring show through, and the trailing plants I’ve hung up high add pops of green.
I’m not the only one in love with Jolene. From the beginning, I’ve documented my progress on TikTok and my website, and it’s blown up. It’s how I was able to pay for the wedding, how I’ve managed to keep the creditors off of my parents’ backs a little longer.
I just didn’t expect to bedrivingJolene. She’s been parked on our property in Utah while I’ve been renovating her, and I didn’t have any plans to take her anywhere else. She was going to be my adorable office space near our business, not where I live full-time.
My new home was supposed to be with Junior Fitzgibbons, a little starter house we were going to take our time renovating. It was simpler than he wanted, but he relented, knowing it was the next project I was going to dive into as soon as we got home from our honeymoon.
That’s all changed now.
I swallow down the lump in my throat. I cried through most of Utah. And the most surprising of all of this is that it’s barely been about Junior.
Yes, I feel stupid.
I can’t believe he tricked me into believing he cared about me.
And yes, I’m tempted to tell the world that he has a two-inch willy and doesn’t make up for it by figuring out how to satisfy a woman in other ways either, but the joke’s on me, because I almost married him despite that.
But even though my former fiancé turned out to be a hateful, money-grabbing maggot who didn’t mind trashing me to his friends on our wedding day, I wouldn’t stoop to that level.
