Page 4 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Four

HOLLY

So what now, Holly? I mentally ask myself as I stare out my favorite coffee shop window, sipping on my now cold double shot latté, mindlessly watching the usual rush of Sunday coffee lovers darting to their favorite waterfront cafés for a prime view of the ocean.

Despite the beautiful serenity which I’m surrounded by, I feel numb.

Actually, numb doesn’t even scratch the surface of my emotions right now. Ashamed is more like it. Humiliated. Rock bottom. The lowest of lows, just to name a few. I wish I could scream, cry, kick something or… someone .

Wait, would I hurt someone?

Could I hurt someone?

Oh, who am I kidding? Clenching a fist and swinging isn’t my strong suit—nor is confrontation. I wouldn’t hurt a soul whether or not my life depended on it.

After staring at my tote bag on the table beside me for long enough, I decide to flare up my laptop .

Okay, so where is this… Banff place then, Mr. Google?

The image results beam on my screen and all I see is a lake with crystal blue water, and trees.

Lots of them. White tipped hills—no, mountains , that cover the entirety of each image’s backdrop, with cliffs that resemble Mount Everest. There is a small town smack bang in the middle of the mountains, right down the bottom. It looks… cozy.

I flick through an article with a brief bio of the town’s history noting that it boasts a population no bigger than the old town I grew up in, and is home to one of the most spectacular visions in the world: the northern lights.

“Wow. It’s… beautiful,” I mutter under my breath. It seems that drunk, mid-mental-breakdown-me has taste. Yeah, an expensive-mistake taste.

I take in its beauty, mentally trying to picture myself living there but I’m quickly taken out of the trance with sadness because I am actually going to be living there. I feel so disappointed in myself. Disappointed that I recall none of this.

Okay, I need to keep backtracking. I remember from earlier there was a Canadian number in my phone, maybe that could link me to some more information.

I quickly make a note of the time difference between the Gold Coast and Canada: we’re seventeen hours ahead.

So that means it’s 3.22 P.M. there right now.

Nerves settle in over the fear, and while waiting for the international number to connect I pull my hair into a loose bun, weaving the knots out with my fingers.

“Holly? I’m surprised to hear from you so soon,” a friendly woman with a beautiful Canadian accent answers the phone. She must have my number saved. “Not long to go now. How are you, sweetheart?”

I release the breath I’ve been unknowingly holding, swallowing the tight ball in my throat. “Uh, hello,” whoever your name is, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need some help.” I hold back the tears that threaten to sprout from my lash line hard and fast.

“Of course, hon. Is everything okay?” The woman genuinely seems worried, which oddly is giving me some comfort because she is the only person on the planet that I have to talk to.

“Yes…” I lie. I’ve just found out that I’m moving across the globe to a place I never knew existed until half an hour ago when two strange men came to my house to take away my entire life, all because I spent last weekend drowning in bottles of wine over a stupid boy, and drunk me apparently decided ‘Hey to hell with it, let’s move countries and start a new life somewhere else . ’

Yeah, that.

I am so screwed.

“But,” I continue, and even with my chin wobbling like jelly I come out with it. “Well, I-I had… I woke up this morning to removalists at my door and… but, I-I don’t know what I’ve done. I think I…” I trail off, stuttering every second word. “I had been drinking and I?—”

“Holly, sweetheart, slow down. Let me get one thing at a time okay? Let’s start with this morning.”

“Okay, sorry.” I take a moment and draw in a breath then blow out in one sentence with a sob, “There are removalists right now at my house taking my stuff, and the only information I have is a piece of paper with my name on it and an address in a town I’ve never heard of in a whole other country, and I don’t know who you are but for some reason when I broke up with my boyfriend you were the first person I called. ”

“Oh. Oh dear,” she pauses for a moment as if to gather her thoughts around my stupidity.

“Alright. For starters, hi, my name is Susan Kivert. I own Kivert an all white background, slightly different to the Google images.

Snow .

“It’s winter there right now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it sure is. I hope you have snow clothes. You’re going to need it here, honey.”

“I don’t have any at all, actually. Except for a beanie, and I’ve already packed that,” I say dejectedly—freezing my ass off isn’t a thing here. More like, sweating and melting.

“What else do you see, Holly?”

I scroll down a few more emails, including the ones the removalist showed me on his phone. Oh . “I see one to my current real estate agent… wait what’s this? Oh… shit.”

“What is it?”

My brain implodes. I really put in a lot of effort to this whole fresh start thing, didn’t I? “It’s a vacancy letter…” I slide my finger to skip to the next email, “as well as a resignation letter to my boss at the magazine firm I work at.”

Scratch that.

Worked at.

Susan lulls my woe, telling me that things will work out, and for a second, I believe her.

The next email a little further down is from Qantas, the airline.

“Thanks Susan. Uhm, I’ve opened up another email.

Three flight tickets. One for a flight to Sydney, then to Los Angeles, then to Calgary.

” I narrow my eyes to the dates and gasp, “Shit, that’s in a few hours! ”

I’m actually flying away…

Today.

I know the guy said I was leaving soon, but I didn’t expect this soon. My heart dances with anxiety. How did I even plan this while DRUNK? Did intoxicated me forget that I’m terrified of planes?

“Oh. Are you packed?” she asks.

“If you count a few books, a passport, a stack of the closest thing to winter clothes I own and a laptop as packed , then yeah.”

“Well, that’s all you can do, sweetheart. Do your best in this scenario. Take it on the chin, and make this a great, extra long Christmas holiday.”

“I guess so.”

“I hope that helped with finding out a little more information,”

“I wish it did, but I think it only brought on more embarrassment. I’m so stupid,” I admit defeatedly.

“Everyone makes mistakes. Consider it a new start. You sound like you needed one, anyway. And hey, it might be a little early for a New Year’s resolution, but Christmas in Banff, what could be better?

Nothing in my opinion, you’ll love it here.

I do need to go, though. Let me know before your arrival here and I’ll meet you to hand over the keys.

But please text, email or call me if you need me, okay?

” Susan’s mother-like voice once again softens my nerves.

“I will. Hey, Susan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for making this less traumatic than it already is. Really, I think I would have had another breakdown if it wasn’t for you,”

“Oh, sweet pea. Anytime. Bye, Holly.”

“Uroo.” I hang up the phone and slouch into my chair. Fair dinkum, that call flew by, it was over an hour. That reminds me… what time is my flight? I look at the ticket once more seeing that my flight to Sydney is at 10.50 A.M.

That’s in less than two hours.