Dear God, please don’t let me need anything.
* * *
I squeeze out my wet hair with a towel while I stare out at the view from my third story corner room at the Sea Winds B&B. Bras d’Or Lake—an enormous body of water in its own right—meets up with the ocean directly in front of the property. The late-day sun shimmers off the water while a sailboat drifts lazily along with a few passengers sunning themselves on the deck. A curious seal bobs his head out of the water, then, seeming to decide the boat is of no concern, lies on his back, exposing his sleek, black tummy to the sky. The sight of it calms my irritation, but just the tiniest bit.
I’m really here. I have actually done this.
I just moved to Canada on a whim.
Oh shit. I just moved to Canada, and it’s too late to change my mind.
At this very moment, a couple is moving into my apartment back in New York, and I doubt very much that they’d allow me to move back in with them. “Son of a bitch.”
Grabbing my cell off the nightstand, I dial Lauren’s number.
She picks up on the fourth ring, her breathing loud and jagged. “You made it?”
The sound of her voice makes me emotional. I try to stuff in how much I miss her and how scared I am. “I did. You at the gym?”
“Yes. Just finishing up on the treadmill.” I can picture her there, her long legs working at a furious pace. We used to go together three times a week back when I cared about that type of thing. “How’s Nova Scotia? You bored yet?”
Terrified is more like it. “Ha ha. Nova Scotia is exactly how I remembered. So far, I’ve arrived, signed the final papers, and done a walk-through of my new old house.”
“And? Tell me everything.”
“It’s…old, which I obviously knew. And…rustic.” I say, not wanting to admit the shape of it. “Oh, and I found out I won’t have water, lights, or gas for a few days, so the realtor booked me at the B&B next door.”
“A B&B? Your favorite place to stay—in someone’s home where you get to share a bathroom with a bunch of strangers,” she says.
“I have my own bathroom actually, and according to the sign at the front desk, there’s no such thing as strangers. Only friends you haven’t met yet.”
Lauren bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, I wish I was there.”
“Trust me, you don’t.”
“Okay, that’s probably true, but let’s back up because I’m interested in the word rustic that you tried to bury earlier.”
“You caught that?”
“Obviously. Abby, it’s me. You can be honest, even if you’ve made a gargantuan mistake, and right now all you can think of is getting back in the car and driving home at record speed.” Lauren spent the last two months trying to talk me out of leaving New York. I guess she’s not done.
“No way, I love it here.”
“Oh, so we’re doing that thing where you pretend everything’s fine even though you’re ready to burst into tears?”
“Yes, and I’d appreciate if you’d go along with it.”
“Fair enough,” she says, “So long as you know that I know the truth.”
“Deal. Crying won’t change anything. I’m here and I have to make the best of it.” I flop onto the bed and scratch Walt’s tummy. “Besides, it’ll be fine. The house just needs a good scrubbing and maybe some minor repairs,” I say, trying to sound confident.
“Is this the part where I say I’m sure it’ll be amazing and you’re going to be so happy there?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t we just skip my half of the conversation all together and you hold up both sides?”
“Perfect,” I say. “Truthfully though, there could be some other things wrong, but I won’t know until the services are hooked up.”
