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I'm crazy. Off my rocker.
I don't know what I'm doing.
There's a part of me that wants to turn around. There's a part of me that wants to beg him to turn back and take me to the airport so I can flee back to my lonely existence in Yuma. But what am I going to do there? Apart from what I've always done?
The Diner is still going to be there when I get home. My tiny trailer with my sad little plant is still going to be there, watered by the kind, widowed Mrs. Peck two doors down.
I have nothing. I don't even have a cat to come home to. Apart from my best friend, Katie, nobody will miss me.
It’s not like I date. I haven’t bothered since they left. And, honestly, dating feels like a joke now. Everyone seems more interested in a hookup than they are in finding a life partner. Again, that’s not me. I think I’m one of those people who were born cursed with alove onceheart. There is space in my heart for one person. One great love. One forever. After that…
I believe in soul mates. And since the founding ofTinderand other hookup apps, soul mates are a rare thing. People aren’t looking for forever. They’re looking for fun for now. It sucks, but I’m just not afor nowgirl.
I don’t even know if I’m fun.
It’s not like I’m saving myself for marriage, because I’m not. I’m just saving myself forhim. The one who was made for me.
If he even exists.
Katie spent years telling me that if I don’t get myself out there, I won’t meet Mr. Made For Me. So, I’ve dated. I’ve dated a lot. Too much. I’ve kissed more than my fair share of toads in the hopes of finding my prince. After Mom and Dad, though, it feels pointless.
Maybe it’s the grief.
Maybe I’ve been out of the game so long that I can’t seem to find my path back in. It’s not like I haven’t been asked. I have. At the diner where I waitress, I’m often asked to go for drinks. I just never go.I don’t know why.
The ass end of the car skates over what I’m sure is the center line, and I think I feel my stomach pitch into my throat. Swallowing my stomach loudly, a low chuckle sounds from the front seat.
“Easy, girl.” The man is still laughing at me, but I’m struggling to concentrate, because I’m pretty sure I saw a flash of those bright white lights people see before… “Just a patch of black ice.”
Just a patch of black ice?!The man has definite balls of steel and absolutely no fear of the white light that precedes the great beyond.
“Maybe if we slow down—”
“Almost there,” he interrupts.
Under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear, I mutter, “Hopefully we get there alive.”
His only answer is another amused chuckle.
I think again about turning back, but the idea of venturing all the way back down this mountain in this blizzard has the blood freezing in my veins. Besides, it’s not like I have nothing to bring to the table for this Holiday. Mrs. Emerson has a sweet tooth, and I’m a mean baker. I can make a Viennese Whirl like no one else, and for Christmas morning, I’ve got a killer recipe for cinnamon buns. Mrs. Emerson had asked about my talents in the kitchen after sharing her love of sweets, and she’d assured me she’d stocked her kitchen with all the ingredients necessary to make the treats for this Holiday.
Living in Arizona where orange and lemon trees grow, Mom taught me how to make a to-die-for turkey. It’s juicy and bursting with citrus flavor from the slices of orange and lemon tucked under the skin before setting to bake. I’ve told Mrs. Emerson about my turkey recipe, and she’s assured me she is stocked up on lemons and oranges, as well as all the ingredients I’ll need to take over the holiday baking in her kitchen. I know three weeks is a long time to spend with a stranger, but I was looking forward to it before the nerves caught up to me.
I hadn’t taken a vacation since they died. What was the point?What would I do?
I’d been looking forward to this time away from my life of sun and dust for a while now. And to be honest, I’ve been looking forward to my first snow covered Christmas.
I just hadn’t expected there to beso muchsnow.
Still, the idea of spending three weeks with a stranger had nerves jittering in my belly, and my heart beating unsteadily. When I told Katie, her eyes had bulged, and she’d asked if I’d fallen and bumped my head. She wasn’t off base with her question. This wasn’t me.Isn’t me.
I don’t do things like this. Crazy things. Wild things. Spend the holiday with a stranger in another State, kind of thing.
I’m simple. Quiet. I like routine and the comforts of familiarity. But I hadn’t always been this way. Before they died, life had been something to live. After, I guess I lost my way. I lost myself in the grief and the fear of doing this without them.
Still, Mrs. Emerson had comforted me that her mountain home that was nestled enchantingly in the hard gray stone capped in snow white, surrounded thickly with needled green trees, had more than enough space for two. That if I needed, I would have time to myself.
I would need this, so for that I was grateful. Especially after this drive. After this drive, I would need a space to calm myself.
