Page 4 of Pictures in Blue
I look over at her now curled up and sunk into the other side of my gray sectional. One foot under her, she is dressed in a bright, orange sweater that compliments her red hair, a half-eaten egg roll between her red manicured fingers.
“You need a break,” she says. Empty Chinese takeout containers litter my coffee table and we are settled onto my couch, glasses of white wine in hand,The Little Mermaidplaying in the background.
“I don’t even know the last time I took a break,” I reply, draining the bottom half of my glass and reaching for the bottle to refill it.
“Then it’s the perfect time to take one!” She reaches for my laptop on the coffee table and starts typing. Rubbing my eyes, I sigh and wonder if she’s right. I have been completely burnt out at work, not to mention completely miserable. Miserable enough that I know I haven’t been the best person to be around lately.
“Oh, this is perfect,” Charlotte says as she continues to type. She pauses to pull out her wallet from her purse on the floor and grabs her credit card.
“Wait,” I stand and go to her place on the couch, practically sitting on top of her to see the screen. “What are you doing?”
She waves me off. “Shoo. I’m doing what I know youwon’tdo.”
I try to grab the laptop, but she beats me to it by standing up rapidly, clutching the laptop close to her chest as she navigates around the coffee table. She looks down before tapping a few keys. “Aaaaaaand booked,” she says as she hits the touch pad.
“What do you mean ‘booked’?”
“I mean, you are booked for a three-week stay at a cute little inn in Blue Grove, Oregon!” She squeals, as the neck of her sweater falls off her right shoulder. Adjusting it, she smiles at me, all her teeth showing.
“Blue Grove?” I ask. “Oregon?”
“Yes! Have you ever been?”
“To Oregon?”
“No, to Blue Grove? It looks like the perfect place to get away. Get some clarity and all of that existential bullshit. It’s a small town, quiet; it has the cutest shops, and most importantly, it’s a place you need.” She sounds genuinely worried about me and honestly, a getaway does sound nice. And I have never been to Oregon.
The city has seemed so overwhelming lately and every time I step outside, I get total sensory overload. There’s too much noise, too many people, buildings and too many things happening all at once. A quiet town might be something I could benefit from. She gives me a sultry glare as she pushes her shoulder to her chin like she’s trying to flirt, but I know she’s joking. Plus, her last girlfriend was totally out of my league and the guy she dated before her would probably never come within two feet of me. “Maybe you’ll find a hot lumberjack and you can get laid. Finally relax a little. Shut off that ever present brain of yours,” she says, tapping my temple a few times. Her eyebrows raise, a teasing look crossing her features.
“I cannot believe you just did that!” I exclaim. Grabbing the laptop from her, I scroll through the inn’s website. The inn is painted a bright red with white shutters and blooming wildflowers in windowsill boxes that hug the bottom of the french windows. A large porch wraps around it with wooden rocking chairs and benches scattered for seating. I don’t hesitate to picture myself rocking in one of those chairs, a steaming mug of coffee curled between my hands as I look out to the pine trees and mountains behind the inn. It does look peaceful.
“Avery?” I forgot Charlotte was here for a split second. Daydreaming of being at that inn.
“You totally want to go,” she states at my hesitation.
“No,” I deny. “Yes… I don’t know. I shouldn’t. I have way too much to do here at the paper.”
“And I can take over for you there. Next issue.”
My job is really the only thing I am worried about, and Charlotte does know how to cover my responsibilities. Am I really going to just drop everything to go to some random small town in the middle of nowhere? Will it really make a difference?
Before I can say anything else, Charlotte jumps up from her place on the couch, glass of wine in hand and makes her way to my bedroom. I set the laptop down on the coffee table and follow her. When I reach my room, she’s somehow found my suitcase and is rummaging through my closet picking out clothes and packing them.
“Char, why did you put all these in here?” I say, holding up a few pieces of lingerie.
“Honey, you never know when you are going to need matching underwear, okay? It’s for emergencies!” she giggles. I’m cutting her off. No more wine.
I put the items back in the suitcase because what the hell, Charlotte might be right. I resign myself to help her pack the rest of it, picking a variety of clothes. Sweats, t-shirts, hoodies, mostly comfortable clothes. If I’m doing this, the only person I am doing it for is me. I’m not going there to impress anyone, and I’d rather be comfortable while trying to figure out the next step in my life. I know I don’t want to stay at the paper forever, so where do I go from here?
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
We finished packing my bags an hour ago and I have moved them from the front door to my bedroom and back again more times than I care to admit, changing my mind every few minutes.
“I already sent James a message from your email. So, yes you are,” Charlotte hides a smile behind her wine glass as she takes another sip.
I shoot her a glare, “You did not!”
“I maybe, definitely did.”
