Oakley
Fourteen
On Wednesday, I text Jessie to ask about laundromats, and she gets back to me immediately, sending me an address.
I load up my laundry and plug the address into my GPS, following the droning female voice—I’m still disappointed it isn’t Henry Cavill—down the main road until I reach a winding dirt path that slopes gradually up.
Confused, but somehow knowing Jessie wouldn’t lead me wrong, I follow the road until I reach the end, only to find myself parked in front of a little log cabin with a wraparound porch nestled snugly between towering oak trees.
Jessie is already standing on the porch, wrapped in a patchwork quilt, waving frantically at me.
The quilt immediately makes sense. August is quickly drawing to a close, and in the mountains, that means it’s starting to get chillier the higher in elevation you climb.
The cool breeze that blew in through the open windows was a welcome reprieve from the blistering sun.
But as I led my car along the curved roads, I had to roll the windows up from the chill.
The cold didn’t stop me from keeping the windows cracked, though, the fresh air too tempting to resist.
I glance down at my phone and swipe out of the GPS. A quick scroll through my notifications reveals no new ones. No cell service. Equal parts confusion and relief flood my system.
A month ago, I would have balked at the thought of not having quick access to the internet or cell service, but something about being in what feels like a different world makes me forget that I ever used to be glued to my phone
Despite having only just arrived in town, I was quickly learning the way of life here in the mountains, and there was nothing I didn’t love about it.
Two loads of laundry later, Jessie and I are sitting on the small sectional in her living room, mugs of steaming hot tea in our hands as the quiet night falls outside the cabin.
I don’t have to work tonight, and the night off is a welcome reprieve.
So far, I like the job at the bar. I picked up the tasks quickly, having already been familiar with the way a restaurant works, but since moving here, I haven’t truly had a night of normalcy quite like this.
I sigh into the ceramic mug between my fingers, loving the way the steam feels on my skin.
“Levi seems to like you.”
Jessie’s remark in the quiet shakes me from my thoughts, and it takes me a minute to register what she’s said. When I do, the words send a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, and I chuckle awkwardly.
“What gives you that impression?” I toy with a lock of hair, winding it around my finger before dropping it, smoothing it out, and then repeating the motion.
“Oh, come on,” Jessie chastises me. “Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed that he can’t keep his eyes off of you for a second anytime you’re in the same room together.”
“You’ve only seen us together one time!” I protest, laughing at the crazy assumption she’s jumped to. Can he really not keep his eyes off of me?
“Okay, maybe. But I’ve lived here all my life. Levi and I grew up together. I know how he gets when something—or someone—piques his interest.”
“Maybe he piques mine too…” I trail off, only a little embarrassed at my whispered confession.
Jessie reminds me a lot of Danielle. She has a way of pulling information out of you even when you have every intention of keeping it to yourself. It feels like I’ve known her forever, and I’m already infinitely grateful to have her by my side.
“Ha! I knew it! So what’s stopping you?” Her question comes out quiet, like she knows there’s a good reason and she wants to give me the space to decide whether or not I want to share, but hopes that I do.
I can give myself this, right?
Allow someone in. Allow them to see all the broken, jagged pieces of myself without fear of judgment or rejection? If only it were that easy, but I guess that’s where trust comes in.
There’s a part of my heart that will always be the tiniest bit afraid of trusting again, but maybe the two don’t have to be mutually exclusive.
Maybe part of learning to trust again is not a matter of waiting until my fear disappears, but instead, laying myself bare despite my fear. I think maybe they call that bravery.
I take a breath. “When I moved here, I didn’t just see a picture on the internet and decide I had to see it for myself. I was running from something—” deep breath, “from someone.” I look over to where Jessie is curled up on the opposite end of the couch, gripping her steaming mug in both hands.
The almost imperceptible nod of her head and small smile silently urges me to continue and tells me that it’s safe to share myself with her if I want. That quiet encouragement is all I need.
Once I start talking, it’s like a dam breaks inside me. I tell her everything.
I tell her about how I first met Travis and the excitement I felt the first time we kissed.
About the dreams we shared with each other and how we had talked about traveling the world when I finished school.
I tell her how I felt like a part of his family when I first met his dad and every other time after that.
How I found myself imagining a life with him because, let’s face it, I’m a hopeless romantic, and I failed to see the glaring warning signs amid the glow of a new relationship.
I tell her about the drinking. He hid it well at first, and—being the naive, sheltered girl I was—I believed every pretty lie he told to cover up his ugliest truths.
I became complacent with his behavior, and soon enough, I was walking on eggshells in my own home, picking up after him and enabling his toxic behavior.
I tell her about the abuse, about the bruises I hid under long sleeves and heavy makeup.
I don’t stop there, though. I tell her about the abuse you couldn’t see from the outside looking in, and how those scars hurt the worst because I felt like my body no longer belonged to me.
How I was a shell of myself, dirty, unworthy of anything remotely resembling love and respect.
How he so effortlessly made me believe that I liked it.
That I wanted it. That I’d asked for it.
The carefully constructed walls around my emotions shatter like glass, and for the first time, I allow myself to leave the pieces where they lie, not the least bit concerned with picking them up and rebuilding.
Maybe I don’t have to rebuild them. In such a short period of time, strangers have seen more of me than I thought I’d ever allow anyone to see again. It’s freeing.
When I finish, I wipe at the wetness on my cheeks and look over at my friend. Silent tears stream down her face as she looks at me, not with pity, but with nothing short of heart-wrenching anguish.
For me.
She sees me and isn’t scared of what she sees. I take a breath, and despite the tears running down my face, I feel lighter than I have in months.
“You and Levi have a lot in common.” My head whips in her direction and she raises a hand in front of her, stopping the litany of questions bubbling to the surface and begging to be let out.
“I won’t say more than that. It’s his story to tell.
But just know, he has a good heart, and if you give him a chance, I think he might surprise you.
” She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t need to.
I know my story is safe with her, and relief washes through me.
See? You told someone, and you didn’t die. Good job, Oakley.
The little voice in my head can be such a snarky bitch sometimes.
“So you and Levi never…”
I trail off, but I don’t get to ask the rest of my question because Jessie devolves into giggles, the tea she’d just taken a sip of dribbling down her chin and soaking the front of her shirt. I snort a laugh as she haphazardly wipes at her face.
“God, no! Like I said, we grew up together. We’ve known each other since we were practically in diapers. Also, he’s my cousin.”
Now it’s my turn to choke on my drink. Of all the things I expected her to say, it wasn’t that.
I splutter as some of the now-cold tea shoots out of my nostrils and into the hand I threw over my face.
The two of us erupt into a fit of laughter, and I walk into the kitchen to grab some paper towels, still choking on the tea.
The rest of the night passes quickly, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as Jessie tells me all about what it was like growing up in North Creek. We split a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, passing the container back and forth between us as we laugh.
At the end of the night, she helps me load my clean clothes into my car and tells me to come by anytime I need to do more laundry.
Apparently, there is an actual laundromat in town, but all of the dryers are broken, so unless I want to hang my thongs from the railing in front of my motel room, I’ll have to take her up on her offer.
After tonight, though, that seems like a pretty good idea.
I wave goodbye as I start down the dirt drive, excited not only for our hike on Saturday morning, but the bright possibility of another day of adventure.