Oak trees cascade over the road, cutting through the moonlight overhead. It’s a good thing most of the houses on this road leave their outside lights on, especially this time of year.Holiday decorations and lights make the neighborhood look so magical. Some nights, I walk a little longer just to take in the cheer. There are a few people who entered into the Christmas display competition, and their spectacles always make me smile when I walk by.
And then there’s my house.
An old blue and brown mobile home, large screened-in porch barely hanging on still in the front. I have lights around the porch and my windows, along with a blown-up Santa in the front that Pack hates. She tries to bite its feet every time we go out, and tonight is no different.
I let her off the leash so she can put that blow-up Santa in his place and ascend the rickety steps to the open screen door, and finally, to my locked door. I kick my shoes off before slipping the key into the lock and leave the boots on the porch.
My cat, Oreo, is laying on the top of the cat tree by the entrance and swats at my hair when I walk in. Pack bursts in behind me with the zoomies, immediately jumping at Oreo, and I leave the pair to their nightly battle as I slip into the small kitchen, tossing my phone onto the couch.
I’m too tired to do anything except put a box of pizza rolls in the toaster oven.
I take my bra and leggings off as I turn the television on, closing the toaster oven door after. Oreo jumps onto the counter to get away from Pack and sits majestically at the edge like she’s a queen looking down upon her subject. Pack whines at the long-haired tuxedo, and I have to laugh at them.
As my food heats, I pour myself a glass of wine and choose a movie—Jack Frost.
Because apparently I feel like I need a good cry.
A few minutes after the opening movie credits begin, the toaster oven timer dings, and, weirdly, so does my phone.
No one ever texts me after work.
It’s probably a spam text, or one of the marketing messages from some company I’ve signed up to get alerts from. A holiday sale for people who stay up late shopping online for things they don’t need.
Something I do more often than I should.
I keep glancing at the device across the room while I take the pizza rolls out, bewildered by the fact that someone is texting me this late.
I toss the piping hot rolls onto a paper plate, grab my drink, my water tumbler, and hot cider from the microwave, then steadily make my way around the counter to the couch. Oreo jumps across the space and walks on the back of the couch, and Pack jumps into her bed at the end to make sure the cat doesn’t reach it first.
Their playful rivalry always makes me chuckle.
My phone dings with the reminder that I have a message waiting, and I carefully place my drinks down, pull the coffee table toward the couch, and get comfy under my blanket before picking up the device.
Comfort first.
UNKNOWN
Hi
I frown and turn my phone back over, shaking my head. Got my curiosity peaked for nothing. High on the list of things I would never do is answer the phone for a number I don’t know—especially a text message. There are way too many weirdos and scammers dialing random numbers these days.
I grab the remote and turn the movie up, settling back into the couch so I can enjoy my dinner.
Except my phone dings again.
This time I huff.
Who the hell is?—
UNKNOWN
Juniper, it’s Nick.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh shit.
