“Happy?”
“Is that what this is?” She laughs.
“Might be.” I slide down to sit on the floor. Cheryl does the same. It’s a dance school. They don’t have much need for furniture. “I kind of met someone.”
“Like a man?” Her eyes bug out dramatically. “How? You never fucking go anywhere.” Her expression falls. “Oh, God. Tell me this wasn’t an internet thing. Please say no swiping transpired in crossing paths with this person.”
I laugh. Then I zip it instantly when I notice Natalia, the studio owner, staring at me. Apparently, the meeting has started.
‘There was no swiping,” I whisper. “It was in person. Random.” Then I remember the real point I mean to make. “And I fucking go places.”
“You met this man in the studio parking lot?” she probes. “At the gas station? Or perhaps in your driveway? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe that covers all of your regular outings.”
“This wasn’t a regular outing,” I concede. “I went out Saturday night. Arizona came into town, and we went to a concert. And I met him there.” I turn my attention to Natalia while Cheryl takes in this latest information. Also, I’ve yet to decide where I’m taking this conversation from here. When is a suitable time to casually work in that you’re dating a rock star?
“Before I forget,” Natalia says loudly, probably to get those of us still whispering to shut up and listen, “I’m going to need extra muscle to help unload costumes and such before the show. Anyone have a man or two to volunteer for the gig?”
“Oh!” My hand shoots up. She makes this request before every big show and never once have I been able to volunteer anyone ever. Until now. “I do!”
Cheryl side-eyes me. “The guy you met forty-eight hours ago?” She can’t seem to decide between laughing at me and being straight-up appalled.
Somewhere between her tone and the look in her eyes, it happens. My bubble bursts. The fantasy I was so thoroughly enjoying washes away like the water pouring out of a busted snow globe, leaving behind a cracked, hollow structure drained of all magic.
And I suddenly feel like an idiot. “No, not a guy I met forty-eight hours ago,” I mumble. Because what kind of mother would that make me? What kind of fool would integrate a perfect stranger into her world so blindly, so naively, sodelusionally, she’d volunteer him as a backstage parent? After two fucking days? “Me. I’m the extra muscle.” Me. I’m that kind of fool.
Beside me, Cheryl chuckles under her breath. “You had me worried for a second there.”
I don’t answer. I just do my best to pay attention to the rest of the meeting.
It’s not that I care what Cheryl thinks of my choices. I don’t. But I remember other people looking at me the way she looked at me, years ago, when I eloped with Ebenezer, and I didn’t care what they thought either.
I’m still no interested in living my life according to the opinions of others, but I can’t pretend like my judgement has always been the best. And stubbornly closing my eyes and ears to the warnings certainly served me even less than my own gullible tendencies.
And it wasn’t just warnings from others. I saw my own share of red flags and let my ex explain them away. Even when it didn’t make total sense, I let myself believe him because I wanted to believe in us.
When that dream turned into a nightmare I couldn’t escape for a decade to come, I swore I’d never allow myself to be so vulnerable, so fast, ever again.
As the years went by and I settled into being single, I thought for sure I’d learned my lesson, that I unscrambled the patterns that lead me to a relationship like that, not once buttwice, in my twenties, but here I am, at forty, doing the same shit all over again.
Leaping like a fool, headfirst into some epic love story with a man who existed as a fantasy in my life far longer than he’s been real. And yet, with the fairy tales written right there on the walls in front of me, I’ve still pretended to forget that the rock star who followed me home after the concert will turn to dust at the stroke of midnight when the spell wears off. When he goes back on tour. Has another show. In another town. And likely follows another girl home after.
The thought sends a twinge of pain through my chest. Not because I believe it. Because deep down I know it isn’t true. But I want it to be. All of this would suddenly be easier if it was.
By the time the meeting ends, I’ve missed half of it despite my intentions to give it my full attention. My eyes were glued to Natalia the whole time, but my brain just couldn’t stay put.
“So, what’s the story with your new guy,” Cheryl asks, nudging my side as we’re walking out. “Does he live ocean side? Mainland? Work? Divorced? Kids?” She makes a face. “Please tell me he’s not forty and never married or reproduced? I can dig the lack of baggage, but come on, why haven’t those things happened over the course of your adult life, dude?” She laughs. I know she’s just rambling on about the things running through her own mind when she’s out there, trying to give love another shot, but it’s not helping the noise already clanking and clattering about inside my own head.
“He’s not local,” I mutter, scanning the parking lot and spotting my truck at the very end with Knox casually leaning on the hood, waiting for me.
“That sounds complicated.” She tips her head and smirks. “Or perfect.”
“Yeah.” I don’t even know what I’m agreeing to. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“You know it.” She pulls her keys from her pocket when we reach her car.
“Drive safe.” I wave and keep walking.
“Holy shit.”
