Chapter 8
JUNE
My chest is tight. My throat feels like it’s closing in.
“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure myself, gripping the steering wheel.
See, this is exactly why I create a routine and follow it. Last-minute surprises give me the hives and a bad case of anxiety.
“Breathe right through it, June,” I order myself, grasping the wheel even tighter as the car next to me slides so close I think it’s going to hit me.
“Bear left,” the fucking GPS says.
“You fucking bear left, bitch!” I yell back.
Can she see I’m having trouble navigating while the snowflakes hit my windshield hard?
Who in the world says they’re beautiful and unique? People who don’t have to drive under these shitty conditions.
At least, I didn’t do something stupid like driving from San Francisco to Colorado. Though, I should’ve taken a Lyft and not a rental from the airport.
“I’ve driven around before,” I said.
“This should be easy,” I assured myself.
“The house is just a twenty-five-minute drive according to the website,” I concluded.
Everything I said and thought was wrong. I swear the management company is going to hear from me. If I ever figure out who owns it I’m going to hire a hitman.
Big fail, June. Next time shoot for a place where they have warmer weather. Nothing lower than seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.
Whose fault is this? I blame my brothers. Jackson and Jason. Maybe even Jeannette. They started this whole let’s all be happy movement. It was better when we were all single and heartbroken.
What happened to, we Spearmans suck at love?
Everything started with my older brother Jackson. The asshole who hated relationships suddenly found the love of his life. Not only that, he dared to marry and have twin girls. What happened to loyalty and we’re never going to find happiness?
At first, it was fine because well, I had my other siblings. But then Jason finds his perfect half.
Assholes!
Just four months ago, Jeannette calls me from Fiji. She married Teagan, her girlfriend.
Bitch, she deserted me.
If Alex finds anyone before I do, I’ll kill him.
Deep breaths, June. Killing isn’t on the agenda.
Stupid hormones are making me moody. I have to remind myself why I’m here, to find your groove—like Stella did back in that 90s movie. It’s the holidays. My favorite time of the year. It’s all about Christmas trees, mistletoe, and Christmas music.
But wouldn’t it be better if I could share it with someone else?
I should be happy just with myself. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing—on my own. Still, there’s something missing, I feel it in my gut and it’s been worse for the past couple of weeks. That empty space in my soul grows wider and I don’t know how to fill it.
Why am I not enough for anyone?
Every guy I’ve dated breaks up with me with the typical line, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
These idiots shouldn’t make me feel inadequate but when the majority is saying you’re wrong, I can’t help but doubt myself. I might have my own business but if anything happens to me tomorrow, no one is going to care. Well, my family but that’s all.
Now, I can have what I need. A family. No man required. Just an anonymous donor.
Next Tuesday, I’m going to the doctor to get knocked up. This time next year, I’ll be celebrating my baby’s first Christmas. Who knows, if I’m lucky enough I might have twins or not.
I’m getting ahead of myself. With polycystic ovarian syndrome, I might have trouble with artificial insemination.
I’m prepared for anything, in vitro or adoption.
The plan is set up and the wheels are turning.
I’m selling my company next year and dedicating my life to creating a family. Unless I die of hypothermia.
It’s bitterly cold and the snow is falling heavily.
Thick swirling snowflakes blocking the windshield.
Two lights ago, I almost hit a semi because the brakes weren’t responding.
According to my GPS app, I should be at the house in a few minutes.
Just a couple of turns and I won’t be getting out of the rental until … spring?
I can do it. All the amazing delivery services will be at the tip of my fingers. Do they deliver under this awful weather?
How long is this shit weather going to last?
And fuck, I’m not ready for the storm. I’m wearing a hoodie, and the denim jacket I brought with me won’t be enough. The plan to visit the mall to buy a cute jacket from Burberry is canceled until next summer.
“In one hundred feet, turn left,” the lady who obviously doesn’t understand I don’t have a measuring tape says.
Someone should reconfigure the way the GPS system works. Specifically, how they give directions. How about turn left at the next block? Next light, in two lights? Three blocks. I can see that, measure that. Miles, feet … it doesn’t make sense and only feeds my anxiety.
Costa Rica, that would’ve been a better place to go to, it’s warmer and no one will find me there. How about Australia? I should’ve researched fertility clinics in warmer weather or waited until the summer.
Once I park the car, I pull out my tablet to make sure I’m in the right place. With all the snow, I barely recognize the place. Then I switch to my list of important things I want to achieve during the next thirty days.
I check the email the management company sent with the instructions about the keys. I should’ve asked him to mail them, but this sounded so much easier. There are no instructions.
It says, see you when you arrive, June. Maybe someone is waiting for me or the keys are somewhere around the pot or the welcome mat. I should just check. If they’re not there, I’ll call him.
I leave the car running, grab my phone, and lock the door in case someone walks by and drives away with my things. No one answers the doorbell. I wave to the security camera, in case someone is watching but nothing.
Well, I guess I’ll call him from inside the car. However, I realize my stupidity. The keys are inside and I locked it. I try the app to unlock it from my phone but it’s not responding.
I call the guy.
The voicemail picks up. “Hey, I’m not sure what we agreed on but I’m outside the house, it’s cold and my car is locked. If you could please come by to drop the keys or send help, I’d appreciate it.”
I’m tempted to call Jackson or Jason but my stupid phone dies right at that moment. Okay, this isn’t working out. Day one is a failure.