Page 1 of Accidental Getaway

For the second time that day, I accidentally graze the gum stuck to the edge of my library table and a gagging sound escapes me.

I really need to just cover it with a tissue—but I don’t, because it’s a pretty fitting metaphor for my life as is.

I have a marketing degree from a prestigious university; I shouldn’t be desk-squatting in close proximity to a stranger’s dried saliva.

And yet, here I am: the chewed-up and discarded form of my prior self.

I can’t even really complain because it’s all my own fault.

I’m not sure what’s worse—the wad of Big League Chew or the fact that my job currently consists of copying and pasting someone else’s slogan into an ad manager for them instead of running my own campaigns and client portfolios.

The couple that soaks together stays together.

Copy. And paste.

I find the corresponding image of two gorgeous thirty-somethings perched in an open-air hot springs pool while sipping champagne.

Upload. Schedule.

I guess this is what happens when you self-implode at Chicago’s biggest marketing agency and set every single bridge ablaze on your way out.

I move on to the next ad that Amber, my boss at Aspen Sky Marketing, has in the queue. Instead of an account manager, I’m an administrative assistant, with all of the prestige, and the crappy pay that goes with it. A fact I’m reminded of every time I get my student loan statements.

If I can focus and get these ads scheduled, I’ll be able to get out of here on time. My schedule is going to be tight today, but if I leave in the next hour, I should have plenty of time to beat traffic and make it to Denver by 3:00 p.m.

I would rather be working at home than the library, but the problem is that I live with my parents—I am a bona fide twenty-four-year-old failure to launch—and today is Tuesday.

Mom’s knitting circle will be at the house until sometime in the late afternoon, when they will simultaneously complain about going home to make dinner.

I avoid them like the plague. I would rather chew on the discarded gum in front of me than talk to another knitting lady about my nonexistent love life or about my job that they never seem to understand.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. This isn’t what I planned for my life. After college, I was living in the big city with a fancy job and a successful boyfriend.

I wasn’t allowed to call him my boyfriend in public, but that’s another story.

I had a tiny, yet trendy, apartment and ate at the best restaurants.

It was everything I had worked for throughout high school and college.

My dad bragged to everyone he knew, and I was happy.

I might have been worked to the bone and constantly stressed, but I had dreamed of getting out of Pineview Springs since I was twelve years old, and I had made it happen.

But then I threw it all away during one stupid meeting where I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

I got too confident and upset a client by sharing my opinion.

That super successful boyfriend took the client’s side and fired me on the spot.

I could have stayed and fought for that life, but instead, I fled.

I left that night and never returned a single phone call or email from anyone I worked with.

I glance up from my laptop to the rowdy sight of a story time getting started.

And while the jubilant toddlers piling onto colorful cushions is kind of adorable, it’s nothing compared to the skyline views from my old desk in the bullpen of Chicago’s largest luxury marketing firm.

By now, I would have been a second-year associate—working on massive accounts, eating Chinese takeout around a conference table—and would have the paycheck to go along with it.

My phone vibrates on the table, and I go to silence it out of habit, but it’s Amber. I answer, hoping it’s a quick question so I can finish my work. I told her I would be away from my phone for a few hours this afternoon, but she doesn’t know it’s for a job interview.

“Jenni, I’m so glad I caught you,” Amber says, as if I have ever not answered one of her calls.

That’s one habit I still have from my big firm days: I’m constantly available to my boss, day and night.

“I need you to look at the Telluride Fourth of July event proposal before we send it to the client tonight. It’s a bit of a mess and I’m running late for a doctor’s appointment. Do you have time?”

I take a deep breath and check my watch. That document is at least fifty pages long. It will take me more than an hour to go through it, maybe two.

“Oh, the entire document?” I ask, stalling for a reason to back out. I don’t have time for this.

“Yes, the whole thing. I need you to double-check all the figures to make sure they are accurate—oh, and can you take a look at the formatting? It’s gone super wonky. ”

“Well, I’m working on the hot springs ads, but maybe I can…”

“Thank you, thank you. You’re a lifesaver. Okay, I need to run. Send it over when you’re done.”

The line goes dead. Great. This is exactly what I didn’t need today.

It’s 11:30 a.m. and I haven’t eaten all day.

I guess I can put these ads on hold until tonight since none of them are scheduled to go live for a few days.

If I take the proposal over to Bobby’s Café and beat the lunch rush, I can eat while I look it over.

If I speed through it, maybe I can still get out of here on time.

I shut my laptop to pack up.

Like most of the streets in Pineview Springs, this one is lined with black vintage-looking light posts adorned with hanging flower baskets and miniature Colorado state flags.

Growing up, those little flags filled me with a sense of patriotism and belonging.

But now? All I can see is where they are faded and ripped. Just like my life.

Once across the street, I step up into the restaurant and a bell chimes above the door. Bobby, the owner, smiles and calls out, “Iced caramel latte, coming right up!”

Some days, I feel like I live in Stars Hollow or some other romanticized little town where everyone knows your name and coffee order. It seems great on TV, but sometimes it can be downright suffocating. What if I wanted an Americano today?

Even if I did want something different, I wouldn’t ask for it because Bobby takes pride in knowing the regulars and I would hate to deprive him of that joy.

“I’ll take a BLT too, please. Keep the change,” I say and set some cash by the register. Bobby is already drizzling caramel inside of a medium cup with my name on it. “Thanks!”

I’m just settling into a little table near the back when the bell above the door chimes behind me .

“Jenni Swanson, as I live and breathe. What are you doing here?”

Crap . I sigh. Not today. I don’t want to see anyone or feel like I have to explain myself and why I’m here for the hundredth time.

I just want to eat my lunch and get this proofread done.

But I turn around anyway, with a stiff smile on my face, to see which part of my past has walked through the door.

“Mrs. Harper! Oh, my gosh!” My surprise is genuine. I haven’t seen her since I moved home six months ago. “It’s so good to see you!”

Mrs. Harper was my high school history teacher.

My favorite teacher. I’ve heard she was still teaching, but I haven’t made the effort to stop by and see her.

Secretly, I’ve been waiting for my life to turn around before doing so.

I didn’t want to disappoint her. But I’d be surprised if the gossip train hasn’t already blown my cover.

“My dear! It’s so good to see you, too. Are you in town for a visit? Last I heard, you were in Chicago. Oh, I remember that was all you used to talk about. Getting away from Pineview Springs and seeing the world.”

The way I see it, I have two options here.

I can tell Mrs. Harper the truth and disappoint her, or I can stretch the truth a tiny bit to let her keep her believing I achieved all the goals she helped me set back in the classroom.

The kind thing to do, really, would be to tell her what she wants to hear, right?

I wouldn’t want to ruin her day with my tales of woe.

I keep a smile plastered to my face. “Oh, you know, not much has changed for me! Working at a marketing firm, spending as much time outdoors as possible. I’m in town to see my parents. Piper and Sarah are also coming for a visit in a few days, and I wanted to be here for that.”

None of that was too much of a lie, right? I do see my parents every day. And Piper and Sarah might be coming to visit soon. I never know with those two .

Seeing Mrs. Harper here, in town, brings back so many memories.

Not only was she my teacher, but I used to work for Mrs. Harper and her husband.

They owned the Pineview Inn—an adorable old-school bed-and-breakfast in town.

My best friend, Piper, and I both worked there all throughout high school.

I got the job first and then recommended her.

I don’t allow myself to dwell on the irony that almost ten years later, Piper is the one who got me this job at Aspen Sky after I left Chicago.

“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad that the two of you are still in touch.

That girl has always been so unapologetically herself.

It’s one of my favorite things to see in a high schooler.

These days, all the kids are so worried about social media that I can barely get them to tell me anything about themselves.

They have to check if it’s on-trend or canceled before they’ll tell me. ”

I nod. Piper is pretty amazing like that.

When she came out, the first thing she did was ask a girl to homecoming.

She wasn’t going to let anyone at school tell her she couldn’t.

Even when her parents struggled with her identity and she stayed with me for a while, she was confident they would come around.

Bobby sets my drink and sandwich down on the table.

“Well, it was so nice to see you, Mrs. Harper, but I have to catch up on some work, actually,” I say, fighting not to let my paper-thin veil of confidence waver. “I’ll stop by the school next time I’m in town.”

“No use in that.” She chuckles. “I’m retired! Had my last day in the classroom a few weeks ago. Jerry is needing a lot more help these days, and I just couldn’t do that and keep teaching. He keeps me on my toes, though.”

Jerry Harper’s stroke forced them to close the bed-and-breakfast since he had been the one running the inn’s day-to-day operations.

They’ve been trying to sell the inn, but haven’t had much luck finding a buyer they like.

Still, I hadn’t realized Jerry was needing so much care. I should really check in on him.

Mrs. Harper always talked about the two of them traveling the world once they both retired. That must be so hard on them.

“I’m sorry retirement isn’t going the way you planned,” I say. “Do you think you still might take that round-the-world trip?”

“I don’t think so, honey. Not for a long time anyway, but that’s okay. Dreams change. And our job is to adjust and make new dreams. I get to spend lots of time with the man I love. I also get to go for long walks whenever I want and I’m reading more than I ever thought possible. Life is good.”

Bobby returns again, this time handing Mrs. Harper a to-go cup.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” she says. We hug and she waves as she exits the restaurant, turning toward the lake. I take a deep breath.

All of that about making new dreams? That might work for retirement plans, but not for careers. I can’t just sit here and say, “Never mind. I’d rather just give up.”

I’ve seen how that plays out. My mom was supposed to be a dancer.

She had trained her whole life and was apparently incredible.

She had dreams of going to New York City and being on stage.

But then, she met my dad—a schoolteacher with a job already lined up.

She settled. And though she would probably deny it, I know she regrets her choices.

Growing up, I would catch her longingly looking at magazines in the grocery store, or tearing up at Christmas when we watched The Nutcracker .

Sure, she threw herself into her life here: homesteading, camping, and supporting her family as much as possible.

But I think she secretly always wished it had happened for her.

I frown at the food on my plate, suddenly not feeling quite so hungry. I do not want to be stuck here like my mom, wishing I had ended up somewhere else. With a sigh, I grab my phone and text Piper.

Jenni: You’ll never guess who I just ran into…Mrs. Harper!

Piper: Wow! What did she say about you moving home?

I should have known she would ask. I’m tempted to change the subject, but Piper’s the only person I don’t have to pretend with. She’s known me too long and can see through all my BS nine times out of ten anyway.

Jenni: I might have let her believe that I was still living in Chicago…

Piper: The teacher’s pet LIED? That’s some piping hot tea. Why?

Is she really going to make me say it? It’s embarrassing.

I set out to do all these big things, and I made sure everyone knew it.

I tell Piper as much, and she sends back an exasperated emoji.

It’s her way of telling me she can’t have this conversation with me, again.

Which is fair. I’m definitely a broken record lately.

Jenni: I also might have told her you and Sarah were coming up and that’s why I am here ;)

Piper: Ha! Well, we are in New Mexico, so just a few hours south, but we’re heading to California next.

Jenni: I know, I know. Wishful thinking.

What I wouldn’t give to have a girls’ night. My social calendar involves watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy with my parents every week night at 6:00 p.m. on the dot.

Piper: Are you heading to your interview?

Jenni: Not yet. Amber just asked me to proofread the Telluride proposal and it’s going to take forever. I’m not sure I’ll get out of here on time.

I probably shouldn’t bother going through another interview anyway. It will be my tenth interview in the last few months and none of them have amounted to anything.

Piper: Send me half and I’ll help you.

Jenni: Seriously? You’re the best. Thank you!

Piper: You owe me. LOVEYOUSOMUCH

Forty minutes later, we’re both done, and I’m heading down to Denver.