My gaze wanders over the lobby that’s functioned as my second home from the time I turned eighteen and joined Mom as a housekeeper. We weren’t the kind of family who could afford vacations, so being employed at a water park hotel was the next best thing. I remember walking beneath the giant statue of a bear strumming a banjo in the parking lot, which you can see from Dollywood, and feeling veryadult.
Like being on vacation every day, my mother said.Living the dream.Now she’s in Atlanta, living a new dream. I’ve been stuck here, not remotely feeling like every day is a vacation.
“She said she was going to leave me everything,” I murmured, “but that was forever ago. I was a kid.”
“She loved you.”
“She didn’t love anybody else better than me, in the twenty years since we saw each other?”
“Those twenty years didn’t stop you from being her niece.” Ruth lays her hand over mine. “She understood why you didn’t return. Time away can make coming back awkward. And your mother held a fierce grudge.” She draws back, straightening thecontents of the envelope. “You were the only apple on the family tree she liked, if you don’t mind my saying. Who better to inherit the estate?”
I’m struggling to process this information, but it won’t sink in. If this means what I think it means, I can leave my living situation: a tiny apartment I’m being crowded out of now that my roommate’s boyfriend moved in and his friends are always sleeping over. I don’t know what I’ll do for a job, but with a house already paid for, it isn’t such a big risk to leave Pigeon Forge.
I can leave Around the Mountain Resort & Spa. I can leave Gemma.
“I can move in now?” I ask suddenly. I nearly pounce on her, I lean forward so fast. “Like,today?”
Ruth nods, eyes cutting to a herd of people decked out in their bathing suits, heading to the water park. The doors blast open and the roar and gurgle of water rides rushes out before the doors muzzle it again. “All ready to go. There are some dying wishes of Violet’s to run over with you, but the fine details can wait until after your arrival.”
A blue mist sweeps across hoods and trunks in the parking lot, swirling up in capricious spring winds. My heart lifts with new hopes, new plans taking shape, pumping ferociously.
“The property is mine,” I say quietly. My voice sounds strange, not like myself.
“The property is yours,” Ruth affirms. Minutes slip away as I sort through this reality, but Ruth shows no signs of impatience. She merely excuses herself to buy a coffee and croissant, then returns and eats in companionable silence.
“What’s the catch?” I ask. “There has to be a catch.”
She chokes on her croissant and gulps the coffee, wincing.“Went down the wrong pipe. Don’t worry yourself, it’s all in order. No debts, no mortgage. Violet thought ofeverything.”
I flatten my hands on the table. That’s all there is to it, then. “Okay.”Deep breath, Maybell.“I guess that means that... I quit.” It comes out sounding like a question.I quit? Can I do that? Is this really happening?
Christine is at the checkout desk, berating a temp for parking in her spot. I could stroll up to her right now and make a big, dramatic scene. A satisfying “I quit!” story for the ages.
I could throw my name tag in the pool.
Confidently lay out all my grievances and how she’ll be sorry when I’m gone. How many hours I’ve given to this company, only for them to stick me with a health insurance policy that’s riddled with holes, no paid overtime, and none of the bonuses I was led to believe I’d receive. I could point at the wet seats and sayClean. That. Up.Punctuating each word with an obnoxious clap of my hands.
Dark spots speckle the edges of my vision as I stare at Christine, who senses being watched and turns to give me aWhy are you sitting down on the clock?look. God, how gratifying it would be to utter the magic words.
But when Christine taps her watch and frowns pointedly, old habits die hard. I’m a meek little mouse, rising to my feet as if I’m going to head straight back to the dorm-room desk behind a folding wall that is supposed to be my office, which I am never at because they’ve eternally got me shampooing gum out of the carpet.
No one’s around to bear witness when I carefully leave my name tag, key card, and lanyard in the break room. No one looks twice when I retrieve my purse from my locker. I almost take my stash of Mountaineer Tickets with me, good-behavior rewardsI’ve been saving up to cash out for a large lemonade slushee. They’re useless in the real world, so I shove them into the temp’s locker. It’s surreal to be leaving, and just as surreal to be leaving so quietly. After more than a decade of dreaming I might be the type of person who goes out with a bang, I’m not even giving a fizzle.
My hand’s on the front door, ready to push, when Gemma shouts my name from up on the giant novelty rocking chair that families like to sit on and pose for a single picture that costs them $29.99. She’s taking a selfie. I quit even harder.
“Hey, Maybell! Are you going on break?”
This is it.
You suck astronomically and I will miss you the least. You screwed with my head, abused my trust, and had the audacity to be so nice that it will never not confuse me. You’re a rock in my shoe. An out-of-order bathroom stall. A traffic jam. A loose handful of gumballs in a trick-or-treat bucket.
Anybody else would say that—and worse. But unfortunately I’m me, a passive doormat who probablywillmiss her, so I wave back with a tight smile.
“Yeah. See you in a bit.”
And then I’m out the door, my back turned to her. My last words to Gemma Peterson weren’t brave, but it lifts a weight off my shoulders to know they’re the last. A new smile, one that is small but one that isreal, tugs at my lips. The last time I wore a real smile... it’s been long enough that I can’t remember it.
There’s a superstition about luck, and it goes like this: a run of bad luck is followed by a run of good luck. This is the silver lining, the softening edges. I spent my teenage years in dingy motels or on sofas belonging to whoever my mother was dating at the time, carted behind her all over Tennessee, missing chunks of school.I’ve picked all the wrong, cheating boyfriends and should have accumulated a hard shell of trust issues, but my heart’s too cowardly and still runs jumping into whoever’s arms will open for it. I’ve scrubbed toilets and been demeaned and ignored and promoted as a consolation prize, only to be shoved aside yet again. My best friend isn’t my friend at all. The love of my life doesn’t exist.
