She headed toward the door, then paused with her hand on the knob. “Oh, and Hayden? There’s a Christmas festival this weekend. Nothing fancy, just the whole town getting together to drink hot chocolate and argue about whose lights are the prettiest. You should come.”
“I don’t really do the Christmas thing,” I said automatically.
She turned back to face me, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised. “Well, honey, you’re in Texas now. We do Christmas whetheryou like it or not. It’s basically on Olympic sport out here.” Her expression softened. “Besides, might do you some good to get out and meet some people. Can’t hide in here forever.”
Before I could argue, she was gone, leaving me with only my thoughts and the sound of her heels clicking down the hallway. I stood there holding the plate of cookies, feeling like I’d been hit by a small, blonde hurricane.
“Meetpeople,” I muttered to myself, setting the cookies down on the kitchen counter. “Right. Because that worked out so well in California.”
I wandered through the apartment, taking stock of my new temporary home. It was small but spotless, with worn furniture that somehow managed to look both dated and comfortable. The bathroom had been recently updated with a new shower and toilet, though the sink still had that vintage mint-green look that was probably older than I was.
The bedroom was cozy, with a double bed taking up most of the space. The quilt was definitely handmade, all blues and greens in a pattern that reminded me of ocean waves. There was a dresser against one wall and a small closet that would barely fit half my wardrobe. But I’d only brought two suitcases stuffed with my most important items. Clothing was low on that list.
I flopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The mattress really was as comfortable as Dolly had promised. Memory foam that molded perfectly to my body, easing some of the aches from three days of driving and sleeping in cheap motels.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out without thinking. Three missed calls from Mom, two texts from my so-called friend Anthony, and… My heart stuttered. There was text from Tommy.
Tommy: Hope you made it wherever you’re going safely. We should talk when you’re ready.
“Fuck you,” I said out loud, my voice sounding too harsh in the quiet room. I deleted the message without replying, then turned myphone off completely. The silence that followed felt both terrifying and liberating.
I could hear the faint sounds of the diner from outside. There were dishes clattering, the murmur of voices, and someone laughing. Life going on while I hid away like some wounded animal that had crawled into a den to lick its wounds.
Dolly was right about one thing though. I couldn’t hide in here forever. But I could definitely hide for tonight. Or maybe for the next month until I finally could go home.
I kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the bed, letting the exhaustion of the past few days wash over me. Just a quick nap, I told myself. Then I’d unpack, maybe take a shower, try one of Dolly’s cookies...
When I opened my eyes again, the room was dark except for the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the thin curtains. I fumbled for my phone before remembering I’d turned it off. The clock on the nightstand read half past nine. I’d slept for over three hours.
My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my stomach was growling loud enough to wake the neighbors, if I had any. I sat up slowly, my head spinning a bit. The room felt unfamiliar for a moment before I remembered where I was. Sagebrush. Aunt Dolly’s place. A thousand miles from Tommy and all hisstupidbullshit.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching until my back popped. My stomach growled again, reminding me that I’d only had lunch today before passing out. The diner was probably closed by now.
I shuffled to the kitchen in the dark, feeling my way along the wall until I found the light switch. The fluorescents flickered on, harsh against my sleep-sensitive eyes. I blinked a few times, then spotted the plate of cookies still sitting on the counter where I’d left them.
“Dinner of champions,” I muttered, unwrapping the plate and grabbing one. The first bite nearly made my knees buckle.The cookie was still soft in the middle, with chunks of chocolate that melted on my tongue. It tasted like... like comfort. Like someone giving a damn. And it annoyed me, but not enough to stop eating it.
I ate three more standing there in the kitchen, then forced myself to rewrap the plate before I devoured the entire batch.
My stomach was still grumbling for something more substantial though, so I opened the fridge. True to her word, Dolly had stocked it with the basics. I grabbed the sandwich meat and some cheese, then found bread in a little breadbox shaped like a little canvas-covered wagon. Of course it was a wagon. Everything in this place seemed to have some kind of country kitsch theme.
As I made my sandwich, I glanced around the tiny apartment. It was quiet. Far too quiet. In California, there was always noise whether it be traffic, neighbors, or the constant hum of human existence through the next wall. Here, I could hear the tick of a clock somewhere and not much else.
I finished my sandwich and washed it down with tap water that tasted different from what I was used to. Not bad, just... different. Everything here was different.
Sleep had cleared my head a little, but the reality of my situation still felt surreal. I’d actually done it. Run away from my life, from Tommy, from everything I knew. And now here I was, in a tiny apartment behind a diner in a town I couldn’t even find on most maps, with nothing but a suitcase of clothes and the shattered pieces of my dignity.
“Get it together, Hayden,” I told myself, leaning against the counter. “It’s just a month. You can survive anything for a month.”
I thought about turning my phone back on, checking my messages, maybe even calling my mom to let her know I’d arrived safely. But the idea of dealing with any of that made my skin crawl. I didn’t want the questions, the pity, or the inevitable conversation about Tommy. Not right now.
Tomorrow. I’d deal with it all tomorrow.
Right now, what I needed was a walk.
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door, needing to get out of this tiny space before the walls started closing in. The night air hit my face like a gentle slap, cool but not cold, carrying the scents of grass and something floral I couldn’t identify. Streetlamps cast pools of amber light along the sidewalk, and Christmas lights twinkled from nearly every building like some kind of small-town conspiracy to be aggressively festive.
The main drag was mostly empty except for a pickup truck parked outside what looked like a bar called The Rusty Spoke. Through the windows I could see the warm glow of neon beer signs and the silhouettes of a few patrons nursing their drinks. For a moment I considered going in, ordering something strong enough to numb the edges of my thoughts. But the idea of making small talk with curious locals made my skin crawl.
