Sealing Her Fate

"You didn't seriously apply for that job, did you?" McKenzie asks, throwing the last of her darts.

The dart flies from the board, nearly hitting a couple at a table before skidding across the beer-covered floor. I delicately pick the dart out of the alcohol and dirt before wiping my hands on my jeans. 

McLeary's is the best hole in the wall in town. The familiar stench, dark and dreary wall decor, and cash-only bar wait to greet you like an old, crabby friend. The owner doesn't care that we're underage as long as we tip. The only problem with the bar is if anything touches the floor, it needs to be heavily sanitized. 

"Yes, I did," I respond before taking a sip from my drink and standing at the line.

"What were you thinking?"

McKenzie and I have been friends since we were babies, having grown up in houses just down the street from each other. Life has given us different paths though. She is content with this small town. Already married with one child at home, she never plans on leaving. 

It breaks my heart. Out of everyone I know, she would be the first I would pack in my bag and take with me. But it wouldn't work. She would just as quickly sneak her way back to this tiny little nothing of a town.

"Is this really about the job?" I ask, turning to study her.

I know what she is really trying to say, but I am tired of people beating around the bush. If they want to tell me what they really feel, they should speak up. I'm not a mind reader, and I'm tired of the sad eyes and contorted expressions. 

After a deep sigh and a look of remorse, McKenzie begins, "You've spent your entire life trying to get out of here, which I still don't understand."

"It's the small-town feel. I need to find something different—or at least a place away from Josh." 

I know that it will be hard to give up everything, but it is necessary for my own survival. I despise this town. There are no jobs, and running into my ex every few days at the coffee shop is slowly eating my soul.

"Then why did you apply for that job?" McKenzie finishes, "It's in a town even smaller than this."

Focusing on the target, I throw the darts as I get my thoughts in order. I know why I chose that job, a non-profit committed to protecting the environment, with satellite sites throughout the world. It's an obvious choice for a girl who wants to travel. Plus, the pay and amazing benefits make it a worthwhile choice.

"Addie?" McKenzie asks after my last dart bounces from the board and lands near my feet.

"It isn't so much the small town that I hate," I lie. "Plus, I wouldn't be there for long. This is the corporate headquarters, and from what I was told, they are constantly moving people to every other location in the country. I could settle in Chicago—I would be close enough for you to visit—or Seattle, or D.C., or even Florida. You could visit, and we could spend the entire time on the beach."

McKenzie stares out the corner of her eye while shaking her head before grabbing the darts. Three shots fly straight to the middle of the board, letting me know that McKenzie is not happy with my answer. 

"I know what it is," McKenzie begins as she joins me at the table, "You want to move but are still afraid of the big, bad city."

"I am not." 

The lie would convince just about anyone else. What can I say? I've spent so much of my life in a town with a population of less than ten thousand. The idea of moving to a city where that might be equivalent to the population of a few blocks is much more than I can handle. Baby steps. If I'm not ready to dive into the deep end, I can at least submerge a toe. 

"I think it's time for shots."

"Good way to avoid the topic," McKenzie grumbles and slams the tequila, "but you're still not off the hook. When do you think you will hear back about the interview?"

McKenzie passes me the second shot. My body shudders from the combination. This is going to be a birthday to remember. 

#

The afternoon sun blazes through the window as muffled club music plays under the pillow. A birthday to remember. More like a birthday already forgotten. What happened after that second shot? My hands scratch at the sheets, searching for my discarded phone. The throbbing in my head convinces me that the unfamiliar number shouldn't go to voice mail. 

"Is Ms. Stevens there?" A polite woman asks.

"I'm Ms. Stevens," I answer, trying to sound as if I haven't just woken up from drunken oblivion.

"Good, this is Marie." She pauses. 

"Oh yes, Marie," I state, not knowing a Marie. I barely remember my name after last night.

 "All of us have been thrilled with your resume and recent string of phone interviews. We are down to two candidates for the position and were hoping to set up an in-person interview."

With giddy joy, I jump on the bed. "Yes, that sounds great."

"Good, we would like to have both candidates interview next week. We're hoping to have a decision and a start date at the beginning of July. Would it be possible to schedule the interview today?"

"Of course," I answer, falling to the mattress, my stomach flipping from either the phone call or the alcohol.

After driving for seven hours, hitting massive traffic and road construction, I finally make it to the tiniest town I’ve ever visited. Arriving exactly an hour late for the interview.

At this point, I should turn around but I still continue forward. I came this far, why turn back now? If there still is a chance, I have to fight for this job or crawl back to my meaningless existence at the coffee shop.

As soon as I’m called into the bright orange office, something clicks and no matter what I say, I won’t lose the job. I don't know what it is, but Marie wants me as an employee.

The questions are basic. She literally answers her own questions. This is far different than the gauntlet during the phone interviews.

Half way through the meeting we are discussing pay, benefits, time off, and every other important element of relocation. She can’t promise anything but she pens my start date into her calendar. My heart swims as my dreams slowly materialize.

I am going to prove myself, regardless of what anyone else thinks. While most of my friends sit at home, playing video games at their parent's house, I am going to be a manager in one of the top non-profit companies in the world. Albeit, I will be a manager of one of the smallest sections within the company.

As soon as the interview ends, I spend the remainder of the day familiarizing myself with the town. Everything centers around five or six blocks. It’s quaint and charming. The façades reveal the historic beauty of the area.

I can't believe I’m choosing to move to an even smaller town, if at five thousand it still counts as a town. Village might be a more appropriate term.

This town doesn't boast any type of tourist population, making it stagnant throughout the year. The only thing Lakeview can boast about is the lake. The town deserves the name. Everywhere has a perfect view of the shimmering water.

Unfortunately, with the amazing view and large acreage plots, the town boasts a very unforgiving housing market. It’s challenging for someone who hasn't had a serious job and a non-existent savings account. Without the resources needed to invest in a house, I have no choice but to look in the classifieds for an apartment.

The options are limited. I prefer something in town. The best way to get to know my neighbors is if I actually have some. If I live near the woods and accidently get mauled by a bear, no one would know I went missing for weeks.

Sitting in the local diner, B & B, and what appears to be the hottest spot in town, I sip on my ice tea as I contemplate the choices of a new home. The waitress puts the plate on the table while I circle and cross out the available housing options.

It is either the small, outdated apartment in the best area of town, or the larger and dingy apartment on the outskirts of town. Oh, the options of a small town. City living is looking better every moment.

The bell rings, bringing in a boisterous group of males. Their conversation is amusing and I can’t stop myself from looking up.

Staring at their physiques, I forget the food on the edge of my fork as it falls back to the plate. Nothing about their chiseled figures should exist on a human.

Maybe there is something interesting in this town after all. Relocation is looking like my best option. I'll gladly take the tiny apartment for a chance of being neighbors with any of them.

One boy sticks out from the rest. He’s slightly older, with dark wavy hair as his hand quickly brushes it out of his eyes. His bronze skin probably comes from hours lounging by the lake. A mixture of excitement tinged with boredom rests in his dark hazel eyes. That same expression usually resides on my own face.

He turns, meeting my gaze without hesitation. My chin tucks as I focus on the food. My mind needs to relearn thinking as my checks burn.

Their conversation switches. Not only are they talking about me but I feel their gaze as the chairs shift across the linoleum floor.

"Hello," One of them say sliding into the bench across from me.

It’s the guy who caught me staring. Heat rises as I turn between the plate and the man. If I wasn't so socially awkward, I would know how to respond. Having a handsome man sitting across from me, smiling slyly in my direction, makes my mind go to mush. Oh what to say, "Hi," I finally conjure up, as the whisper leaves my lips.

"Would you like to go for a run," he asks as his eyes light up.

What a strange question from a complete stranger. Where would anyone get the impression that I actually like running? I’m in a business suit and heels. There’s nothing athletic in my physique, especially in this outfit.

"Excuse me?”

He smiles and plays with the saltshaker, "Would you like to go for a run," He repeats with the same intensity and confidence in his voice.

This boy may be the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, but the hair on the back of my neck slowly rises every moment he’s near me.

"I don't run.”

His eyes burn into my scalp. He doesn’t understand my response. I don’t understand his question.

He leans closer and after a slight pause; I lift my head high enough to look into those large brown eyes. Instantly, the trap is set, he could say or do anything and I would agree to it without hesitation. I would start running right now, high heels and all.

The man inches forward and glances at the table before looking back through his long eyelashes. A technique that I'm sure he uses often. As he watches me, I realize I’ve moved forward and am inches from him. Quickly I sit back in the booth.

"Come on," He whispers before looking around the diner, "You can't tell me the trails haven't sparked your interest."

Not only have I not seen the trails but there is nothing in my mind that would convince me to add trails to my priority list. I don't hike, bike, or walk anything that has a trail in its name. A visit to the gym is something entirely different.

Placing the fork and knife on my plate, my mind finally focuses, "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

He inches back. His fingers continue to play with the saltshaker while his other hand rests on the back of the bench. My expression must mirror his; confusion and annoyance.

The man inhales before nonchalantly looking around the diner, "You don't know, do you," He asks his eyes blaze wildly.

"Know what," I retort wondering what the social norms are in this tiny town. Even though I’ve lived in a small town all my life, I’ve never had such a random encounter.

The man laughs, catching the attention of everyone in the diner, "You really don't know," He says louder, with more skepticism than anything.

He smiles before leaning closer as if trying to whisper some tantalizing secret. I stay where I am, not willing to be caught inching closer to him again.

He looks me up and down, an action that actually takes my breath away, "You'll figure it out soon," he whispers before climbing from the booth, motioning to his friends as they stand and leave.

The most exciting thing about changing towns was getting rid of everything that seemed familiar. These men prove that no matter how far I run from home, there will always be at least one frustrating man in my life.

The strange man walks across the window with his group. Even though he is chiseled like a Roman god, I already hate him after the completely infuriating conversation.

Hastily turning, I ignore them as he keeps glancing back. Each swipe of the knife causes the plate to cry as I aggressively cut the chicken.

I shake my head while replaying the conversation. His strange expression lingers and I mentally note to add pepper spray to my grocery list.