Page 50 of Queen of Nothing

And this is how we celebrate. Taking the hour available to us—while our clothes spin around in the laundromat washing machine—at a rocky, cold beach.

I drop my forehead to my knees.

It isn’t comfortable.

But none of it is. Nothing has been comfortable since the day we left.

If I was home, I would be celebrating my birthday in style. With all the comforts around me. Probably in the jet, flying off to my new favourite destination, which changed every other year. Oliver would have new watches. I would have a new animal to add to my collection.

But I would be married, too.

To Dray.

Maybe I would already have children of my own. But I would have a team of nannies for them.

I certainly wouldn’t be doing my own laundry and sitting out in the rain, the car parked just up the rocky hill.

We’re on the move again.

Sofía called to give us a head’s up just a few days ago, that the shield was being touched, that trackers were closing in—and that’s our cue to leave. To move on to the next town, states away.

But I do it unwillingly now.

It’s a chore to leave.

Sometimes, I just wish they would catch me already. Instead, we get away every time—and that leaves me doing laundry on my birthday.

I was stupid to chase this little life.

9

There is a phone booth in every town.

No matter the size of the town or the phones that fit in our pockets, there is one constant—

A dingy, stained phone booth.

The first town we tried to settle in, the phone booth was old, scratched, and awkwardly placed on the main street.

I saw it in passing a few times before Sofía called, and told us we had to move on. That she could feel the shield being breached, and that it wasn’t safe there anymore.

We lost all our deposit and rent on the house.

Hightailed it out of there in the middle of the night.

We found another town.

Then another, and another.

Every time we were even close to relaxing, Sofía called to push us out again.

Now, three years on the run, and we’re on our fourteenth town.

In this town, the phone booth is next to a bus stop, bolstered to the brick veneer of the general store.

I stare at it as I pass by, until that tether in my hand suddenly pulls down.

Sal drops his weight, leaning to the side, and practically dangles from the child-safe harness. The leash scrapes over my palm, but I tighten my grip and tug him back to me.