Page 6 of Christmas in Comets Valley
And why did I sound so professional? “Let me know your thoughts”… this wasn’t a business meeting. Don’t even get me started on the noodles. Why did I think that was necessary?
Three dots appeared on the screen, letting me know she was typing. I slammed my eyes shut and held my breath until I heard the ping from the new message. I peeled my eyelids open, and much to my surprise, I wasn’t met with a flat-out rejection like I’d expected.
Juliet:Hi Aera! I looked through your photos and your house isgorgeous. I’d love to trade with you for a few weeks.
I’m also normal, clean, and have burned a cup of noodles or three in college. No crimes that I know of. But I had a sleepwalking problem when I was younger, so I may never know for sure.
You’ll be happy to know Comets Valley has an enormous Christmas festival, and it’s the highlight of the year. You’ll love it! But unfortunately, there aren’t many men here though, so if that’s what you’re in the market for to help you “relax,” you might be better off choosing somewhere else.
Aera: Perfect, who needs men anyway? The less of them, the better. How long should we switch for?
Juliet: Agreed. How does the day after Christmas sound?
I wasn’tsure how safe it was switching homes with someone you had only sent a few messages back and forth to, but I was so desperate for an escape from reality to give it another thought. Even if this Juliet woman lived in Timbuktu…I was willing to accept.
Aera: Sounds great. The sooner we can switch, the better!
Juliet: How about tomorrow?
Aera: Perfect!
Julietand I exchanged a few more messages with logistics and contact information before I shut down my computer for the night. Crawling into bed, my skin buzzed with excitement as I laid on my pillow and pulled the comforter up to my shoulders.
And for the first night in months, I wasn’t kept awake until the early hours of the morning, plagued with never-ending thoughts of what could’ve been.
* * *
I might as well have changedmy name to Alexander, because I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Anyone who claimed vacation was “fun” and “relaxing” was a liar. It was nothing of the sort.
It all started when I dropped by the office to get a few things squared away before leaving on my trip. I stopped at my assistant, Lydia’s, desk to tell her I’d be out of town for the next few weeks and that she could take the time off too if she wanted—paid, of course.
And the woman passed out.
Like, fell into a limp heap on the floor right in front of me. I almost had to call the paramedics at seven in the morning, for God’s sake.
I’d never seen someone pass out before, and for a moment, I thought I accidentally killed her. I mean, I wasn’t entirely sure how that would’ve been possible, but with an unconscious woman looking lifeless on the floor, I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
Later, as I walked out of the building, one of Inamra’s prominent customers, who was on his way to a meeting with Ben, stopped me while I was wearing sweatpants… sweatpants!
I never would’ve been caughtdeadin sweatpants had I not been in pre-vacation mode.
The guy—I couldn’t remember his name… Phil? Jeff? Bob?—gave me a once over and I could’ve sworn I heard him mumble something to the tune of “whatever makes sales happen” as I walked away.
Loser.
After an unnerving time at the office, all seemed well for a moment as I made my way out of the city and set out on the open road toward Comets Valley.
The drive was eleven hours north of Los Angeles in middle-of-nowhere Oregon, a few miles north of the California border, but I was determined to make it in ten.
Or so I thought until I came to the mistimed realization that I failed to account for two important details in my plan. To start, there was the fact that I had never driven in snow before. And more importantly, that my sports car was in no way designed to be driven on icy roads.
Since this whole vacation was somewhat of a spur-of-the-moment decision, Imighthave forgotten to do some research on the driving conditions before I merged onto the highway. Rookie mistake on my part.
Add in the reality that I rarely ever drove anywhere other than the beach house, and I was screwed. Completely, royally screwed.
What was supposed to take eleven hours rapidly turned into twelve. I primarily spent the last two hours hunched over the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. All while, the tail end of the car skidded between both lanes on the back roads which lead to Comets Valley.
My only saving grace was that the other drivers on the road were few and far between.
