Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
"Ugh. He sounds like a peach." I pay the bartender for the drinks, even though I could do with saving my money for more important things. "I think we should make a toast." I pass her the tall, cool glass and hold my drink close. "To finding new jobs and happier times. And wishing your asshole boss’s cock withers up and drops off."
She clinks her glass against mine and snorts with amusement, both of us taking long sips of our very strong cocktails. "At least if it withers up and drops off, he wouldn’t be able to bother anyone else with it," she giggles nervously. I catch her looking around as though she’s worried he could be listening. The asshole has really gotten under her skin.
"Exactly. He’s probably got a tiny pecker, anyway."
"Probably. So, you’re not enjoying your trip?"
I shrug, not relishing the pathetic feeling of being homesick. "I’m enjoying the scenery, and everyone I’ve met has been perfectly friendly. It’s just…" I trail off, not sure how to explain that unless I’m living life in the fast lane, my time is wasted.
Chantelle raises her eyebrows. "Are you here with anyone?"
"No. I came by myself."
"That’s brave. I’m not sure I’d be that brave."
"My dad thinks I’m crazy. He spent days berating me for leaving a perfectly good job and a perfectly nice apartment to slum it on the other side of the world."
"Yeah, mine would probably do the same. So, what would make this trip more interesting?"
"That’s a good question." I stir the straw in my drink, making the ice swirl amongst the mint leaves. "I guess meeting interesting people and finding adventures."
"Do you have an itinerary planned?"
Shaking my head, I recall Kyla asking me the very same thing. "Itineraries feel too organized. I like living from day to day, not knowing where the wind will blow me."
"Well, the wind blew you here." Chantelle looks around and so do I. The bar has emptied a little and not for the first time, my heart sinks. "I think it was fate."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I was going to go home and cry myself to sleep, but maybe I should just wake up tomorrow and plan myself an adventure."
"You absolutely should."
"Does trawling websites for a new job constitute adventure?" She rolls her eyes at the lameness of her question.
"I guess anything can be an adventure if it’s taking you somewhere you haven’t been before."
"So that’s the definition. Newness?"
"Yep. I’m like a rolling stone. I like moving on."
"So, I guess I shouldn’t bother giving you my number? You know, in case you get a craving for another mojito?"
I smile broadly. "I start craving another mojito as soon as I’ve finished the one in my hand."
Maybe I was too hasty at judging this trip after all.
2
DAWN
I’m old enough to know that adventures that start at the bottom of a glass only lead to hangovers, but not mature enough to care. I crawl out of my bed after noon, throwing on a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a white tank, and slide my feet into thongs (well, that’s what they call them here!).
The hostel I’m staying at has a cool surfing vibe, and the café bar area serves all day brunch, which is about the best thing I’ve eaten since I arrived in Byron Bay. The owner, Craig, must be in his early-fifties and still loves to surf at the crack of dawn every day.
His eyes scan me, and without me having to ask, he pours a black coffee and brings it over with the menu.
"I have a hangover cure that will put the pink back into your cheeks," he says. "But it involves raw egg and hot sauce."
I mime gagging and shove my hand out, palm facing him, to protest any further mention of such grossness. "I think I’ll stick with the pancakes."
"Good choice. Drink up that coffee and I’ll squeeze you some OJ too."
Smiling gratefully, I hand back the unopened menu and, while he puts my order into the kitchen, I swipe through my phone, catching up on the news from back home.
It was Carl’s birthday and Kyla has posted a cute photo of him surrounded by friends on her Insta. Allie tweeted about an article she wrote on the female orgasm, and I spend five minutes scanning through it so I can make a witty comment below. My dad’s Facebook page hasn’t been updated for a month. The anniversary of my mom’s death is looming, and he always withdraws for a while. Each year he writes a lovely post about her. Each year I’m worse for reading it.
I scroll through other friends, and family updates, knowing it’s probably a mistake. The more time I spend thinking about home, the more unsettled I am. To counter my homesick feelings, I scan through my camera roll, searching out some of the beautiful pictures I’ve taken since I arrived and uploading them onto Insta. I come up with captions like ‘A slice of heaven’ and ‘So beautiful it doesn’t seem real’ and use filters to give the natural beauty a vibrant and hyper-enhanced gloss.