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MIA
Are you sitting down? I’m not sure how to tell you, but I just came across Kyle’s profile when I was swiping through the dating app. Apparently, he is still on the market.
It was a punch to the gut I didn’t foresee. Of course, I searched for him, and there he was, single and ready to fuck. Not needing another second to process, I drove over to his place and told him exactly what I thought of him. I have too much self-respect to deal with his bullshit.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say the whole situation lowered my self-esteem a couple notches. I spent the next week replaying our entire relationship over and over, tossing countless tissue boxes in the garbage. This was the third relationship that had gone up in flames in the past few years. It was time to wave the white flag and hang up the towel. The guys around here just plain sucked.
However, I’m certain I deserve better. Mia picked me up off the ground and reminded me what a catch I am. Thankfully, I grew up as an athlete and love exercise. I consider myself fashionable and choose styles that highlight my assets. My hair is naturally wavy and shades of light brown, and I keep it long and healthy. And goddamn it, I’ve got great boobs. So many women want bigger boobs, smaller boobs, or perkier boobs. They won’t always stay this way, but I’ll keep my full C cup, thank you very much.
My family is amazing; I am supported and loved. My mom’s attempt to lift my spirits always comes in the form of sugar. A dozen blueberry muffins one day, magic cookie bars the next. My dad, who stays up to date on pop culture, texts me about the latest dating app or articles detailing a newly married couple who met online. He’s aware the chances of me meeting someone teaching at an elementary school are slim to none. Being from a rural area, pretty much every guy in town was in your preschool class or the one next to it, and there were only so many new arrivals to the dating pool. “Everyone meets this way now” is Dad’s signature saying. He wants me to be happy, but after the shit show I just experienced, I can’t bring myself to swipe to find love.
Honestly, love is the last thing I need right now. I need to focus and zoom in on the other aspects of my crumbling world.
A week before school ended, my parents came over for our traditional Sunday night family dinner. These dinners had been a party of four until Kyle and I split up. Now we’re back to the three of us.
To show my parents that I had my shit together, despite my breakup, I cleaned my place and planned out a decent meal. I tied up my hair into a messy bun, threw on a pair of old joggers, and got to work making dinner. I’d have enough time to get ready after I cooked. I made my mother’s favorite meal and my father’s latest dessert.
Despite telling them to come at five, they arrived at four and told me they had news to share. With dinner in the oven, they video-called my older brother and informed us of their plans to sell the family’s New Hampshire cabin. The upkeep was too much for them, and no one was going up there as much as before. They wanted the freedom to travel whenever and wherever without having to arrange for the cabin to be taken care of. My laissez-faire brother accepted the news and was hopeful they would spend more time in North Carolina with him and his family. While change is good, especially for my aging parents, selling the cabin was a hard no for me.
After the call ended and the news had sunk in, my heart felt heavy, an awful lot like heartbreak. My life had become a giant dumpster fire.
Our family’s cabin is the dream of log cabin living. Resembling the Lincoln Log cabins I built as a kid, this place sits on top of a gorgeous sloping hill in the middle of the woods, with a forested marsh extending for countless acres as the front view and various sky-high evergreen trees as the backdrop. Standing on the front porch, I can hear the rustling of leaves as the wind dances by and the chirping of songbirds high up in the pines. And on a calm day, the stillness of everything is in perfect harmony.
This cabin holds endless memories and stories from my childhood, which is why I couldn’t fathom my parents selling it.
It’s not that they aren’t interested in the cabin anymore; it’s simply too much. A place that brought them so much joy has become a headache. Too remote, too much upkeep, and too isolated for their new hopes of a busier social circle and more months of sunshine.
There are certain places where you spend time that touch your soul in a way words can’t explain. Places that calm you to the core and make you stop and truly cherish what’s around you. The air fills your lungs, the water calms your thoughts, and peace surrounds you. That’s what this cabin and lake are to me.
Some people will never understand, but if you’ve been lucky enough to spend time there, you just might. Losing this place couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it happen.
After they left that night, I did a lot of thinking and soul-searching, as well as deleting of contacts. Kyle sent several groveling messages attempting to explain the error of his ways. Delete contact. Delete all the exes. I knew what I needed to do—a fresh start was the answer. Losing the cabin would be equal to losing a part of me, part of my soul and future memories. It didn’t occur to me how important it was until I was faced with losing it. I had to persuade my parents to let me have it.
I made my decision and wanted nothing more than to start fresh—a clean slate, an unmarked trail. I grew up summering on the shores of Newfound Lake. Lazy days filled with sunshine, sand, the wind blowing through my hair, surrounded by the beauty of the mountains.
I didn’t have it figured out, but there was no better time than now. The dumpster fire was blazing, and I wasn’t sticking around to watch it burn.
I no longer had a job, and the lease on my apartment was up next month. I’d need a job in the Meriden area, a better vehicle for the mountain winters, and to figure out how in the world I would maintain the cabin on my own.
After countless text messages, phone calls, and late-night dinners, my persistence paid off. Saying I had my parents’ support would be an exaggeration. They spouted the laundry list of reasons why this was too big of an undertaking. They didn’t think I could handle being alone in the woods, when I was used to having them a few miles away and many friends within a mile’s radius. I’d be trading neighbors and small-town comforts for a cabin with absolute solitude within an even smaller town. Sure, that’ll take some getting used to. I’ll have to order and stack wood for the woodstove, the cabin’s primary heat source—when the most I’d ever had to do before was press the up arrow on the thermostat.
The cabin sits on a private road with zero street lights; therefore, I’ll have to arrange the plowing during the winter. And there’s no weekly trash service. I’ll have to stay on top of shoveling the wrap-around deck and front porch to avoid sagging from the weight of the snow, as winter storms in the Lakes Region can be relentless. They reminded me to rake and dispose of the fall leaves, mow the grass, and clean the house, a space five times bigger than I’m used to. I would need to be prepared for anything since there aren’t any big-box stores to run to at ten o’clock at night. Everything in Meriden closes by eight (or earlier).
My parents think I’m being too nostalgic, and quite frankly, they (or I should say my mother) don’t think I have what it takes. Mom, the biggest naysayer of the two, reminded me my cabin memories were of summer sunshine when everything was handled in the background, relieving me from ever having to think about what is required to live up here year-round. Hence, the expiration date on the deal.
Their deal? I have until the end of the summer. Two and a half months to learn to live in the middle of nowhere and figure out how to maintain the cabin to keep them from selling it. If I can’t figure it out, the For Sale sign goes up Labor Day weekend.
If I find what I’m searching for, they will move forward with their other plans, and I will stay in my mountain retreat.
So here I am, writing a new chapter to my story. I’m not sure if it’ll have a happy ending, but I’m going to give it my best shot.
2
As I cruise through town, a warm breeze circulates through the truck. I inhale deeply, the clean mountain air reassuring me I am home. The sun shines high above as it always does toward the end of June. Meriden is a nostalgic New England town with quaint shops lining Main Street. Among the storefronts are a mom-and-pop bookstore, a fudge factory, and of course, a post office, library, and fire station. Every location opens and closes at the same time, and each has a lamppost out front that holds potted summer flowers. This is small-town perfection.
People stroll both sides with paper bags swinging from their wrists as they push their strollers or hold the hand of a loved one. In summer, the locals come out of their snowy bungalows, finished with hibernation and ready to socialize, mingle, and enjoy the majestic beauty around them. The population quadruples this time of year as visitors vacation on Newfound Lake. Meriden, nestled in a beautiful mountain range and surrounded by countless lakes, lures nature lovers from every corner of the country, generation after generation.
Visitors and locals pack the streets today. People search for parking spots at the Christianson’s Country Store, hoping to grab today’s special to enjoy later on the shores. Moms and dads head into Small Mart for an extra fishing pole or water tube for the kids to enjoy while they relax on the pontoon boat. It’s strange to experience this as an adult because my memories of this town are from my childhood. Taking in my surroundings reminds me of just how ready I am to make fresh memories.
