Page 1 of A Country Kind Of Love
1
The sunlight streams through the gap in the creamy translucent curtains, creating a silhouette of the boxes piled up high by the window. Peyton turns sharply to avoid the light. Late shifts make her feel like a vampire, but it was her last one, and the double pay is the main reason she’s been able to fund her move to Tennessee six months earlier than her Excel spreadsheet told her she could.
Twelve months ago she created a road map setting herself achievable goals and a realistic timeline based on, well, Google. She wasn’t the first to move states in the history of the universe, so she traipsed through numerous blogs until she felt comfortable with hercalculation.
Her financial planning section could rival the thoroughness of budget documents released by the United States government. She even included economic pressures. After careful analysis of the budget data, she determined how long it would take. If she avoided socialising of any kind, rode her bike to work, and stole her brother’s Netflix login she estimated she would be out of California and flying over the hills of Tennessee in eighteen months’ time.
The second she closed the document, the universe answered her prayers. A phone call from her manager revealed the long-standing head server at NORMS was leaving, which meant more hours for Peyton.Winner.
Twelve long months of night shifts, early morning shifts, double shifts, and little sleep got her to this point. She might have dark circles under her eyes now, but she’s aheadof schedule.
There is a moment of bliss right before her alarm goes off and ruins everything. She sprawls out in response, and a piercingmeowechoes from the foot of the bed; a grey cat rolls off and lands delicatelyon its feet.
“Whoops...” Peyton bolts upright. “Sorry Blue.” The disgruntled feline looks back in disgust before he makes a beeline for the door. Blue is the least original name for a grey cat. Peyton is aware of that, but it suits him.
It’s 11:00 a.m. The sound of a car skidding onto the driveway is immediately followed by the chorus of Fall Out Boy, “Thnks fr th Mmrs”, playing at an unfathomable volume. It takes her right back to 2007. Her brothers are returning from their morning surf, but what really concerns her takes her straight to the all-knowing Google.
Why does the title for Fall out Boy’s song “Thnks fr th Mmrs”, have no vowels?
Weird.
California has a lot of beaches, but not everybody surfs. Peyton Harris may look like your typical California surf girl, with blonde curly hair, tanned skin, and a great bikini body, but she sits way outside the stereotypical box she’s been placed in. She tried to surf once in her teens. She swore blind she saw a fin and has refused to set foot on a surfboard since. She’s now 23. Under no circumstances was she becoming a shark attack statistic.
On the occasional holiday weekend when she makes an appearance at the beach, she sits guarding her brothers’ surfboards whilst they dance around in the sand likeTop Gunwannabees, begging for attention from hot young women at the beach. Peyton loves her brothers, but sometimes she wonders if she got switched at birth. Their DNA might match on paper, but their personalities are worlds apart.
“Peyton...” A voice calls loudly enough to echo through the house. “Peyton...”
“What!” She throws thecovers off.
“Do you want pancakes?” the voice yells again. Pancakes were the only thing her brothers could make. Four years at university with no parental supervision had them living off Cheetos, cookies, and cannabis, but Dylan did make great pancakes.
“Yes, please,” Peyton bellows.
She grabs the coffee-stained University of San Francisco hoodie from the floor at the foot of her bed. The green letters have peeled away in parts from years of use, but it only adds to its character.
James bounds past her like a gazelle being hunted by a cheetah as she makes her waydownstairs.
“Morning, Sis.” He tries to take the stairs three at a time with flip-flops on. If that doesn’t sum him up, she doesn’t know what would. He falls twice; which Peyton finds highly amusing. She’s going to miss him when she leaves. The moments of weakness have been frequent in recent weeks. Circumstances have only just brought them all back together.
Huntington Beach is her home. It’s one of the best surf spots in the whole of California, as her brothers like to stipulate. She is the youngest of three siblings: the baby. James is the middle child, and Dylan isthe oldest.
Her brothers are larger than life characters. Growing up they loved the spotlight. They constantly vied for their parents’ attention which allowed Peyton to fall comfortably into the background—just how she liked it.
Dylan beams at her as she enters the kitchen. His unruly blond hair flops heavily against his forehead.
“It smells good in here,” Peyton says. The sweet smell of freshly baked batter and the lingering vanilla scent causes her stomach to rumble.
“Your penultimate breakfast is almost served.” Dylan skilfully flips the pancake. She’s seen it end in disaster twice since he dubbed himself the pancakeconnoisseur.
She reaches around Dylan to grab a handful of raspberries. In return he smacks her hand with the greasy spatula.
“Hey...” Peyton sulks.
“It’s not ready yet. I’m making it Instagram worthy for you.”
“Because I’m such an influencer? I don’t post anything on social media.” She rolls her eyes.
Peyton categorises social media as a cesspool of curated content that will make the whole world mentally unstable, but... and it is a big but. She knows if she wants to have any chance at getting her music out into the world she needs social media. It’s like the four-dollar coffee she purchases every day. She doesn’t want it, but she needs it to wake up, feel alive, and be normal. It’s part of her daily routine, and the only luxury she allows herself. Maybe she’s addicted, like everyone is addicted to social media.
