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Normally country isn’t on my playlist, but I heard this band on an episode of Yellowstone, and since the gritty voice didn’t resemble the twangy sounds I typically associate with country I figured I’d check it out. Now it’s one of my favorites. It makes doing inventory more bearable.
I could've gotten out of this task if I wanted—I’ve got enough seniority I could’ve worked the lunch shift at the Main Street location—but chances are Deacon would pop in there at some point, and I’m still trying to avoid him. It’s been several days since he drove me home, yet my embarrassment is still as fresh as if it’s only been a few hours. Counting supplies gets me out of having to interact with him and everyone else, something I don’t have the energy for.
The softpingof a new notification draws my attention away from the inventory I’m counting, mostly because it’s so rare. After all, working as a waitress/dance instructor doesn’t require email, and most people who need to reach me send a text.
Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I open the email app and find the bold print that indicates a new note.
Dear Tiffany,
We’ve received your application for the position of Intermediate Instructor with the Jefferson School of Dance, and we’d like to schedule an interview. Would you be available Thursday, April 17th at three p.m.?
Sincerely,
Jane Felte, Director
Oh. My.God.
Despite holding the evidence in my hand, I still struggle to accept what I’m seeing. I mean, I’ve got years of teaching dance under my belt, but I’m young, without any formal training in instruction, and I’m not local to Jefferson. The odds should be stacked against me, yet somehow I scored an interview?
It’s early—I know it’s early—but this is confirmation that it’spossibleto leave Katah Vista. That starting over in a new place doesn’t have to be a fantasy.
Could I do it? Could I actually leave the only place I’ve ever known and livemylife, without being watched or fussed over? It sounds like Heaven. Or as close as I can get anyway. My fingers fly over the keys as I type out a response, though the phone clatters to the floor after I hit send.
How do I pull this off?
I suppose it’s possible to get there and back in a day. I could leave around eleven and get home around seven or eight, and if I’m lucky no one will be the wiser. That’s a bit of a gamble though, and besides, if I’m actually going to relocate anywhere, I’d like to have some idea of whether I even like the place I’m considering. That means I should spend at least a day or two there, as long as I can come up with a plausible motive to go.
Mom will flip out if she learns the real reason for a trip to Jefferson. She’ll flip out regardless, but an interview will send her on a downward spiral.Ifanything comes of this a freak out is inevitable, but there’s no reason to put her through that until it’s necessary. For now, I just need a reason to make the trip.
Wait a minute.
Sara lives in Jefferson, I think. I didn’t really keep in touch with my old classmate, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use her as an excuse, especially since my mom doesn’t know we never kept in touch. It’ll be easy to convince her we text here and there, and decided it’s been too long since we’ve seen each other. Maybe I’ll say she bought her first apartment and wants to show it off.
Yeah, that could work. And the timing is perfect since it’s mud season and the town isn’t busy. Lots of people vacation when tourist season wanes, so the last-minute trip won’t sound as suspicious if I say I need to do it now while Lennon doesn’t need me full-time.
Okay. Sounds plausible. I think.
Switching the screen to phone mode, I dial my mom.
“Hey sweetie. I thought you were working today,” she answers in her usual, cheery voice.
“I am, but I just got a text from my friend Sara. You remember her? From high school?”
A short pause. “No, not really.”
Who would’ve thought not having close friends in high school would end up working in my favor? If she doesn’t recall Sara, she can’t argue how “close” we are.
“We had English together. And History. Sometimes we’d do our work in the library over lunch. Anyway,” I press forward before she can ask for more specific details, “she’s been living in Jefferson the last few years and she just bought her first place. She wants me to come see it.”
Mom’s breath hitches. “I don’t know. Jefferson is quite a way away.”
“Mom.” I use the calm but firm voice I’ve had to adopt since becoming an adult. “I’m not asking if I can go, I’m telling you I am. Remember how we talked about me being able to make my own decisions?”
“Of course, I do. Traveling by yourself isn’t something to take lightly though. Any number of things could happen. The car breaking down, getting into an accident, criminals. I don’t like the idea of you on the road alone.”
“I’ll have the car serviced before I go, I’ll have my roadside kit and a first aid bag handy, and I’ll have my phone with me at all times,” I recite dutifully, only to be met with silence. “Look, I know a trip like this will make you worry, but I’m excited to have a few days of vacation, and it would mean a lot if you could trust me enough to know I wouldn’t go if I didn’t think it was safe.”
I hate playing thetrust mecard with my mom, not only because I’m lying, but because I really do understand why she worries. Yet I’ve learned over the years it’s a good card to play when I want her to relent.
