Page 60 of You'll Love it Here

Jane checks the screen of her phone. “I set up the wash about ten minutes ago with a camera that’s slightly lower, so we can see the floor too, in case the thief crawls in.”

I nod. That’s certainly something we didn’t think of last time.

“We have twenty minutes until it’s time to change.”

She takes a seat on the couch and begins pouring the wine into two glasses. I sit beside her and take the glass closest to me. “So...” I start, twisting the stem between my fingers, “what’s it like back home?”

Jane takes a big sip from her cup. “The best way I can describe it is cold and small. But apparently they have a Boston Pizza now, so maybe I should’ve stuck around.” Her words are laced with sarcasm.

I take a sip of wine too—it’s citrusy and semisweet. “What made you leave, if there were such big things in store?”

“Oh, you know. A bitter divorce.” She lifts the glass, tilts her chin high, and swallows another long swig of wine in a long gulp.

Something about her—those bright, mismatched outfits and her animated, almost cartoonish energy—gives her such a green quality. It’s hard to reconcile that image with the idea of her as someone who’s weathered heartbreak and hard decisions. “Really?”

She gulps down another big swig of wine as she nods. “I know I look too hot and young for it, but that’s the point. I was too young for it all. Trevor and I were together since high school and instead of moving away for college like a normal person, I became a small-town housewife.” She laughs once, bitter. “Pathetic, right?”

Jane’s eyes flicker to the floor, her fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve.

“We all do things for love,” I say—because it feels like the sort of thing you’re supposed to say. The truth is, I’ve never been in love. I’ve usually had to step back before things got too deep. Or if his laugh was really wonky; or if his apartment was really messy; or when he offered me a drawer at his place for my things. It’s for the best, though. My life should be perfect before compromising to fit someone else’s needs in.

“No, my ex was”—Jane hesitates, chewing on her lip as she considers her words—“well, he was a huge dick.”

Her face twists, like she’s caught a whiff of something foul just thinking about him.

“I believe you.” I nod automatically and take a citrusy sip of wine.

“I’m not just saying that as some embittered housewife,” Jane hastily adds, like she’s trying to defend herself before I’ve even had the chance to react. “I guess there were signs before I married him, but I didn’t have a lot going on, never made it to college, so I chose what I thought would be an easy life.” Her eyes squint as if it pains her to remember. “Trevor didn’t like me going out, and I hated arguing—I grew up in a house of arguing. So I didn’t do shit but watch TV with him and bake, while he constantly put me down.”

Once again, I have trouble picturing the version of Jane she describes—quiet, deferential. She said she just wanted to “be” for a while. I guess that means, for a long time, she couldn’t. “Oh, that sounds terrible.”

Jane shrugs, her gaze distant. “Honestly, it was like a low-grade shitty life but not horrible. He didn’t hurt me, not physically. He didn’t expect very much of me. It was easy to shut down, just exist. I could’ve done it forever.”

I grab an apple slice from the tray, chewing slowly. I know toowell what she means—the way you learn to seal off parts of your mind, to feel nothing when everything around you threatens to wound. “What made you finally pull the plug, then?”

Jane nods like she expected this question. “He wanted kids. It was then that I knew I couldn’t fuck a whole new generation, or myself... or Trevor anymore.”

“Hear, hear.” I raise my glass in her direction, smiling. “Wow. That must’ve been really hard to do.” My mom let her whole adult life be dictated by my dad’s issues.

She nods. “It was a small town, and his family owned like ten tentpole businesses there, so me leaving him was justso sluttyof me.” She snorts through her nose. “I knew I had to get away if I wanted a chance of starting a new life.”

“And that brought you to Calgary?”

“Yeah.” The pain finally eases from her expression as she grins proudly. “Work is shit, and I’m not saving much, but this is the first place that’s ever been just mine.” She looks around her apartment, breathing it all in. “It’s all me.”

Now all her eccentric fashion statements, the ever-changing hair colors, her random hobbies scattered around the apartment, even the times I heard her crying through the walls—it all makes sense, because it’s all down to the same thing: Jane is currently finding herself. Because she never had a chance to just live for herself before.

I look at her with a newfound reverence. “Jane, you’re very cool. Seriously, to up and restart your life and make it work—not everyone could do that.”

Last month, when Carolyne called me into her office, I was completely frozen. The thought of losing my job felt like my entire world was about to collapse. I remember how desperate I was to avoid being kicked out of Valleyview after vandalizing it—so desperate, in fact, that I agreed to take on this ridiculous temporary-super role. Could I ever really let go, drop everything, and startover? I’ve poured so much into this one version of my life, planned every step so carefully, that I never allowed myself to even consider the idea of pivoting.

Jane tucks her feet under her, leaning into the arm of the couch. “It never would have worked out without Irene. I’d been crashing on my cousin’s couch for two months, paying the same rent Irene is now charging me. None of the places within my budget, even with my new job, had landlords willing to take a chance on someone without a rental history. I was this close to going back to town and sucking Trevor’s dick—metaphorically speaking, of course.”

I take a hefty gulp of wine, my mouth suddenly dry. “It’s nice Irene let you have it.”

Jane shakes her head. “She told me she actually didn’t think I could afford it with my salary, so she lowered it by like two hundred a month. I don’t know if anyone else would’ve taken pity on me like that.”

I try to hide my wince as my thoughts linger on the box of bills hidden beneath my coffee table. Irene’s kindness couldn’t have lasted forever, I remind myself, swallowing the familiar pang of guilt with the practiced ease of someone who’s grown used to it.