Page 11 of Curse the Flame

“When do you need me to be ready?”

Turns out, my landlord and his wife are as impulsive as I am. That, or they had a housesitter who backed out on them last minute and now they’re stuck with me. Either way, I’m slightly stunned to hear that he will pick me up first thing in the morning and bring me to his grounds so I can have my own camping adventure.

The cabin has running water. It has electricity. It has air conditioning installed in the bedroom window. Mr. Z wants to assure me that, while I’ll be closer to nature than I am living in a condo in the New Jersey suburbs, I won’t be roughing it. I guess, when he looks at me, he doesn’t see someone who’s willing to give up all the amenities.

In a way, he’s right.

I’m a girly girl. Always have been. I don’t like to get dirt under my nails, and I freak out when I see a bug. Still, I crave that peace I’m searching for, and I like the idea of having a few days to myself. No cars driving down the street behind my condo’s kitchen window. No radios blaring in the parking lot. I think my young downstairs neighbor, Mona, is the sweetest thing, but she’s become obsessed with this summer’s big radio hit and through the thin walls separating our apartments, I hear her singing her heart out before her parents put her to bed.

More than that, I can escape the expectations put on me for a little while. I’ll have to let Daph know I’ll be out of reach for a few days—who knows what cell service will be like on the Zs private land—and I might even miss another brunch with the girls, but that’s okay. I’ll make it up to them.

Besides, it’s not like I don’t know they all think of me as the flaky, scatterbrained one of our group anyway.

I’ve spent years trying to prove otherwise. Eventually, I gave up. I like who I am, even when I’m being this wishy-washy and indecisive, and if I distract myself by packing for my trip and loading my car up rather than get in touch with any of my friends in the city… oh, well.

Mr. Z offered to pick me up. No, thanks. I didn’t spend the money to keep my car in a paid parking lot beneath my apartment in Manhattan only to not drive it now that I have a reason to. Besides, even if he assures me that it’ll be difficult to find his home, I’m determined to prove that I can at least follow a GPS.

Luckily, he agreed, and I made arrangements with my landlord and his wife to meet up with them tomorrow at ten. For now, I packed, then I finally got that pizza I was craving. Feeling both excited and a little nervous, I spent the rest of the night binging a series I started last week. Without any TV or any stable internet at the cabin, I might as well finish up this latest season before I go to bed.

It’s pretty late when I finally call it quits. Definitely dark out, and I finally closed the windows hours ago so I don’t have to waste my time after I turn the television off. I just grab my phone, telling myself I should charge it so it’s full for my trip in the morning—and I should probably double-check that I packed a charger since I so often forget to plug the darn thing in—as I head toward my bedroom.

For the second time today, I jolt when the phone buzzes against my palm. I know it’s way too late for it to be Mr. Z—unless he’s calling tomorrow off—but when I see Daphne’s name on the screen, I don’t know if I want to smile or wince that I completely forgot to tell her about my plans for the rest of the week.

It doesn’t help that her text basically calls me out for ignoring her the last few days.

Daph

Proof of life?

I resist the urge to pull a Daph myself and roll my eyes.

My cousin has been doing this since I moved out of New York and into the condo. In New York, at least, we were only a subway ride away from each other. She knew my roommates, and if I wasn’t answering, she’d just call one of them to get me on the line. Now that I’m a state away? Because she considers me incapable of surviving alone without periodic verification, I get texts like this.

I mean, to be fair, I did once lock myself out of my old apartment while barefoot and carrying a bowl of cereal. None of my roommates were home that Saturday, and I had to call Daphne to use the spare key I gave her to let me in. For the same reason, I gave her one to the condo just in case, but you think she’d give me a little more credit.

In the last year, I feel like I’ve grown up more than ever. And, even so, she still treats me like I’m her child.

I type a quick message:

I’m still alive, Daph

Before I send it, I have second thoughts. Then I erase it. A flippant message like that won’t be enough to assuage my overprotective cousin. For all I know, she’ll accuse me of being an intruder who broke into the condo and stole my phone or something.

Walking into the bedroom, I flip the lightswitch on at the same time as I open the camera app. I pause in front of the tall standing mirror, smiling for Daphne as I snap a selfie.

Then, because I’m secretly as vain as my cousin, I open up my photos to make sure my proof of life pic doesn’t show me with a big zit on my nose or some basil in my teeth. My hair’s a little flat from where I was curled up on the couch, and my daytime clothes—a soft yellow t-shirt and denim shorts—are a far cry from the pajamas I’m about to change into, but I think I look pretty⁠—

Hang on.

Wait a second…

Scrunching my forehead, I zoom in. Not on my face, though. Nope. I see something strange near my feet, and I enlarge the photo to get a better look at it.

It’s…

It’s…

It’s…