Page 30 of Dallas Rivals

Eliza doesn’t miss a beat. “She said she knows how hard long-distance relationships are, so she thought it best to cut things clean.”

I stare at the door again, this time thinking about everything Cala gave up—her studies, her life, her future—to take care of her parents.

And just like that, the guilt slams back into me like cold water to the face.

“You want that coffee now?” Eliza asks, her voice softening.

“No. Thanks.”

I leave the kitchen without another word, heading to my room before I do something stupid—like keep thinking about a woman who’s supposed to mean nothing.

The day before she died, my grandma gave me her favorite necklace.

“When you don’t know which way to go,” she said, “hold this lapis lazuli in your hands and ask me. I’ll guide you.”

She was always a mystical kind of woman, and somehow all that magic of hers settled in my brain too.

I believed her. Always did.

I never really had to ask her anything—life usually made sense to me.

But today, for some reason, I do.

I clutch the stone between my palms and whisper,

“So, Grandma… what the hell am I supposed to do about Roger?”

Not much around here for her to use as a sign—just a few cows grazing lazily, looking bored out of their minds.

She’s probably mad at me for swearing. I’ve tried to explain—they’re therapeutic words. Swearing, in its odd way, has always helped me process things, letting off steam when nothing else works. But my grandma never quite understood it. Her world was full of gentle wisdom and quiet magic, not sharp language. Still, I couldn’t help myself; sometimes, the only way to cope with everything—Roger, my parents, the constant feeling of being alone—was to let a few choice words slip out. Maybe she’s shaking her head wherever she is, but I hope she knows it’s just my way of handling life when it gets overwhelming.

These last few weeks, Roger’s communication style has… evolved.

First it was texts, then voice notes, and now he’s moved up to calling me out of nowhere.

“Do you miss me too?” he asked last night.

So, I grabbed a candy wrapper, rubbed it against the mic, and made noises like,

“Eh… shhh… juuu… rrrhhh…” Then I hung up.

I texted right after: Sorry, bad reception out here. Talk later.

Truth is, I don’t miss him.

Maybe I miss having someone around.

Since I started this job, loneliness has been sitting heavy on my shoulders.

I spend long hours by myself—mostly talking to myself too—since neither the plants nor the horses have started answering back.

My parents are in full-blown crisis mode.

Mom suddenly forgot a century of women’s rights and has turned into Dad’s personal maid—literally waiting on him hand and foot, as if that’ll fix anything.

And Dad… he’s an ogre these days. His attitude toward his new reality is anything but positive. Mostly he just sulks inside, barely moving. He doesn’t even bother checking on what I’m doing anymore.

So, no, talking to them isn’t much of an option.