But, for some reason, all of that hurt worse whenTeddysaid it, even if she’d said it for different reasons.Iknew she wasn’t right about me; not completely.Howcould she be after literally thirty seconds?Forone,Iwasn’t so sureIwas hurting anyone, except maybe myself; allIever did was think about the peopleIcared about.
But maybe that was the problem.Maybethat was whyIhad that sharp, hollow sensation when those people succeeded and took steps forward.BecauseIhadn’t given that sameconsiderationand effort to myself.Imean, eighteen months with someone who, in the end, wanted very little to do with me?Stillworking at the same jobI’dhated for years?
I hated thatTeddy’swords carried weight for me.Shedidn’t know me, and she hadn’t tried to before verbally eviscerating me.Butthere was just enough truth and familiarity to her assessment that it stung.
So asIlay there in the not-quite-dark, the tears sprang forth again, andIlet myself feel hurt by what she’d said, even thoughIdidn’t want to give her the satisfaction.Atleast she wasn’t there to see me.
Eventually, though, as the waterworks ebbed and the heat in my throat grew into anger, my inner petty bitch won out.BecausewhilstTeddyhad been more accurate than she had any right to be, she’d been wrong about one thing.
I wasn’t unbothered.Inever had been.Infact,Iwas just bothered enough to do something about it.
MaybeIhadn’t hadenoughmain character moments,actually, thank you very much.Andjust like in ourD&Dcampaign, maybe it was my turn to take centre stage in my own life.Ihad main character material, right?
And if not, maybeIcould muster just enough to prove a bitch wrong.
Chapter3
Teddy
Three months later
The gravel crunched under the tyres of my leasedSubaruasIpulled into the familiar driveway, and for the first time in seven monthsIcould properly breathe.TheCaliforniaair had felt thin and artificial in my lungs, but here in theWelshcountryside, everything settled back into place.
My favourite thing about arriving in theUKin springtime was always the colour.Imade a point to book a window seat on every flight here soIcould get as early a glimpse as possible of the rolling green hills, the damp woodlands already bristling with wild garlic and stinging nettle, the stone walls and hedgerows threading through the landscape like ancient stitches, and the rain-cleared steel-blue of a sky that threatened, at any moment, to pitch you back into fog.Californiaalways felt like a filter to me: too golden; too sure of itself.Here, though, the light hit everything with a softness that didn’t exist anywhere else in the world, the air pressing right up into your face, cold and wet and wild, andIcouldn’t wait to sink my fingers into the black dirt.Despitethe chill,Idrove with the windows down, desperate to replace every molecule ofCaliforniaair with that of my home as quickly asIcould.
My rental car lurched up the gravel track toward the old farmhouse, and my heart started its annual migration from my throat down into my gut.Ipulled in between the farm manager,Maggie’s, four-by-four and my auntJen’svan, which she’d had for nearly two decades– as long asI’dbeen coming here.Ikilled the engine, taking in the silence for a moment before rolling the windows up.
GwenynenHollowwas home.Notthe cramped vanI’dlived in the other half of the year until now; not the endless highwaysIdrove from temporary gig to temporary gig; and certainly not my dad’s house, whereIspent as little time as possible.Thathadn’t felt like home for a long time; beforeDad’sdownturn, beforeMompassed, maybe even before she andIhad started coming toWaleseach summer.
No, my home was this little honey farm tucked into a valley that most people couldn’t even find on a map.Itwas deceptively full given its tiny footprint;JenandMomandIhad designed it that way, wanting it to be as efficient as possible.Themain workings of the farm lay off to my right, butIknewI’dbe spending plenty of my time down there this summer, soIfocused instead on the farmhouse to my left.
It was a classicWelshlonghouse: a two-storey home with an attached barn thatJenhad converted a few years ago into her painting studio.Today, despite the misty air, the accordion-style doors were flung wide, through whichIglimpsed a vaguelyJen-shaped blur: salt-and-pepper curls and whatever brightly coloured boilersuit had been at the top of the pile.Today, it was magenta.Shewas facing mostly away from me, andIcould just about see the landscape she was painting– it looked from here to beGwenynenitself in the summertime.
She turned mid-brushstroke, caught sight of me, and brought her hands to her face. “You’rehere!” she shouted as she ran toward me, dropping the brush on a table.Iclimbed out of the car and shut the door, just in time to be pressed back against it as she tackled me into a bear hug.
“Missed you, too,”Isaid into the mess of hair piled in front of my face.Shepulled back, taking me in.
“Flight okay?”
“Hell is other people,”Isaid, reaching into the back seat for my bag, “but they let me in the country, soIcan’t complain.”
I caught sight of something barrelling toward me out of the corner of my eye and turned just in time for a golden ball of fluff to launch itself into my arms.
“There you are, girl,”Isaid, nuzzling intoWillowas she practically vibrated in my arms.Ilet her down, and her whole body wagged asIcrouched to pet her. “Imissed you so much.”
I’d rescuedWillowsixMarchesago and trained her that whole summer, and it killed me to be away from her for half the year.Ithad been an extra month this time, too;Iwas desperate to saveJena bit of money so we could save for a permanent work visa for me.Ithad meant spending more time away fromWillowand from my home, butItold myselfIwouldn’t have to do that for much longer.
“She’s been pining,”Jensaid, smiling down at us. “Barelyate for the first week after you left last time.”
I frowned. “I’mglad you didn’t tell me that at the time.Ihate leaving her.”I’dthought about taking her with me, butIhated the idea of putting her in a cargo hold for eleven hours; and plus, van life wasn’t always very dog friendly.Atleast here she had a farm to run around on, andIknewJenlooked after her as well asIwould have– maybe even better.
“I know you do,”Jensaid asIstood, looping her arm around me and guiding me back toward the house. “Now, let’s get you settled in.We’vegot a lot to catch up on.”
“Isn’tMaggiearound?Iwant to say hi.”Iglanced over the gardens and beyond toward the orchard, hoping to catch a glint of silvery hair in a tight braid, but she was nowhere to be found.
Maggie had worked part time forJenevery spring and summer sinceMomdied, doing the heavy lifting– literally, despite being in her fifties– and helping with the supply chain side of the mead-making operation.I’dalways wondered if there was something between her andJen, but neither had ever let on to anything of the sort.
“She headed home before the rain kicks off,”Jensaid, throwing an arm around me and leading me inside. “Butshe’s just as excited to see you as you are to see her,I’msure.”
