Never Got Over You

“No.” I ripped my pink “Forever Team Girl Boss” pin off my sweater. “You need to get yourself a new marketing director, though. Try to pay her more than the dog shit you paid me.” I turned away and headed straight for the employee room. I grabbed my oversized backpack and stormed toward the exit doors.

When I made it outside, I felt a soft tug at my elbow from behind.

“Wait, Kate.” My boss moved in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I can be a little much sometimes.”

I gave her a blank stare.

“Okay, okay.” She let out a breath. “I can be a lot. But I would never fire you and I can’t afford to let you walk away. If you stay, I can double your salary.”

“I’ll pass,” I said flatly. “I’m done with you now.”

“I can get you a car!” She smiled. “I mean, you’ve helped me to make millions with your strategies, and I won’t even ask you to pay me back for it until ten months down the line. How about that?”

Half of me wanted to consider her offer, but the other half was trying to process her “helped me to make millions” claim. She’d never told me that before; she always claimed the business was trying to stay afloat.

“Sound good?” She said, looking genuine for the first time. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep you here, Kate.”

I swallowed. I was desperate, but I wasn’t that damn desperate.

“I’m good,” I said, stepping back. “Best of luck with your company.”

“What about a monthly bonus?”

I turned away before I could give in, ignoring her calls and continued offers.

By the time I made it home, I knew, without a doubt that it was time for me to leave for another city. Again.

This was my eighteenth one in the past nine and a half years, and it’d only taken me five to realize that I needed to keep things simple, so I could pick up and leave on a whim. I never made friends, only associates. I never bought any furniture since air mattresses were cheaper. And I never?ever got my hopes up; I’d learned long ago that people always let me down in the end.

After stuffing my last pair of shoes into my bag and making sure nothing was left in my motel room, I called the only person in my family who still talked to me. Sarah Kay.

It rang once. It rang twice.

“Hey, there! It’s me, Sarah Kay!” Her voicemail answered. “I’m currently away from my phone, so please drop me a line and I’ll call you back when I can!”

I ended the call without leaving a message. I didn’t ever want my parents to know that she still talked to me, or risk her getting in trouble.

I sent a quick text to the motel manager, letting him know that I wouldn’t need the room anymore, that I appreciated him letting me work in his diner from time to time. Then I started the long walk to the one place that always led to a fresh start. The bus depot.

“Where’s the next bus going?” I asked the clerk, the second I arrived. “Anything that leaves within the hour?”

“I’ve got an eight thirty bus to Phoenix, Arizona.”

I shook my head. I’d already tried and failed there. “What about the one after that?”

“Edgewood, Nevada.”

“No …” I still couldn’t bring myself to think about my hometown without feeling an ache in my chest. “Anything else leaving tonight?”

“Um, let’s see.” He tapped his keyboard. “I’ve got a bus heading to Seattle at midnight. It’s a three-day trip, so you’d make it there by Sunday. Quite a few stops and layovers on that one.”

“Seattle’s perfect.”

“Great! That’ll be three hundred and eighty-three dollars.”

“How much?” I felt my mouth go dry.

“Three hundred and eighty-three.” He smiled. “It’s usually four hundred, but I’m giving you the rush discount.”

“Is there a ‘help me, I’m poor’ discount?” I asked, half joking.

He sighed and opened his drawer. “Two hundred and eighty-three. That’s as low as I can go.”

“Thank you.” I felt tears pricking my eyes, but I didn’t dare let them fall. I handed over almost all the money I had in my wallet and hoped each stop would be near a McDonald’s.

When I made it to the waiting lobby, I started my usual “new city, new life” routine. I googled the most affordable motels and went straight to the city’s digital newspaper to search for open jobs.

As I was clicking through some of the job offerings I’d done before—gas station attendant, housekeeper, janitor—I heard the familiar sounds of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major.

I looked up and saw a young girl strumming her violin across from me. Her posture was good, but she was struggling to perfect a few of the notes.

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “You should raise your elbow a bit. You’ll hit the strings better that way.”