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With Flor getting married so spontaneously, it’s getting harder and harder to ignore that I’m not just alone. I’m also lonely.
And yeah, maybe feeling a little pathetic too.
Muttering at myself, I push up from the couch before I can fall asleep and stomp into my disheveled bedroom. I ignore my unmade bed and overflowing laundry hamper and head straight for the closet.
I grab my suitcase and quickly stuff it full of jeans, leggings, T-shirts, and sweaters. I grab the pair of thermal socks my grandma had gotten me for Christmas one year and throw them in too, just to be safe. It’s sweltering in the city this time of year, but who knew what it’d be like up in the mountains.
Eyeing the assorted clothes, I contemplate grabbing a cute dress or something but then decide against it and slam the lid shut. I plan on avoidinganythingto do with horses or hiking or whatever the hell Flor wants to get up to, but it’s still the mountains. Grungy clothes should be perfectly fine. It’s not like there’s going to be anyone there for me to impress.
Just me, in the lodge, at the bar, drinking my way to a week-long hangover.
Rolling my suitcase to the front room, I prop it against the door, then set my alarm on my phone for an hour before Flor plans to arrive so I have time to shower and braid my hair. The very least I can do is not look like some sort of unkempt bridge troll the day we roll up to what is no doubt going to be a luxury mountain resort full of rich WASPs.
For now, I can indulge myself in my fuzzy pajamas and reality TV while I pretend like I’m not dreading finding out what other surprises Flor will have in store for me.
