“But you need a date for the wedding. And it’s technically the first weekend of March.”
“Yes, true. But I’d rather not try to scramble to find one in a week, and I’m not even looking for one in February. Besides, Mom, I’m tired of roller-coaster relationships.”
“You don’t need a relationship. You just need a date. Nami will want you to have one.”
“Nami won’t care!” At least, I hope she won’t.
“Why don’t you tell her yourself Saturday?”
Now I’m on high alert. “What’s Saturday?”
“FlyFit class, remember? Nami is coming.”
“Uh…” I don’t remember agreeing to any kind of fitness class, but that’s probably my fault for tuning out things I don’t want to hear.
“I’ll text you the address. See you at eleven!” she sings, and then hangs up before I can back out.
Six
SORA
Did you know that single people are often happier than married people? And single people are often healthier, too. What if #GoingSolo helps us live longer?
—SOLO FEBRUARY CHALLENGE
By Friday, I still haven’t come up with a good excuse to get out of FlyFit, but I’m hoping, like all of the problems in my life, if I just aggressively ignore it, it will go away. In the meantime, I focus on the next installment ofSolo February.
When did we decide as a society that paired up is the best thing to be? Why do we ALWAYS celebrate couples, but we never celebrate singles? It’s like we’re all afraid of being alone, like we all dislike ourselves so much that no one can imagine a single life making us happy. I think we need to work on celebrating beingsingle. Imagine if society as a whole spent more time telling you that you are fine all on your own. What if staying single, and living a fulfilling life, was held up as just as meaningful a path as getting married and having kids?
There’s actual scientific evidence that some people are happier single than they are in relationships.
I say we start with a new holiday celebrating being single. We can buy ourselves our own boxes of chocolate. I’d actually prefer bacon boxes. Bacon-wrapped bacon. Bacon-shaped hearts! Yes!
My stomach rumbles. I pause, staring at my blinking cursor. I need a break.
Preferably, one that involves food.
I fire off a quick text to Stella Rosenstein, one of my closest friends who also works from home and lives two doors down.
She texts back,It’s 10 AM.
Brunch then?I offer.
It’s one of the perks of working from home. I can eat whenever I want. This is also one of the downsides of working from home: I eat whenever I want. I’ve not been hungry in many months. I’m not even sure what “peckish” feels like anymore. I just constantly stuff my face with milky white coffee, cheese sticks, and pita chips all day long.
I’m in,Stella writes.We need bagels. Little known fact: our desk jobs require carb-loading.
I love Stella. She was born in Nigeria, but was adopted and raised by a rabbi and his wife, and grew up in the northernsuburbs of Chicago. The fact that she’s a licensed therapist who sees patients in virtual sessions from her home office has nothing to do with the fact that we’re best friends.
Is that your therapeutic opinion?I ask her.
Everything is my therapeutic opinion.
Twenty-five minutes later I’m sitting across from Stella at her favorite bagel joint. They’re certified kosher, so they don’t serve bacon, but their bagels are the size of my face and literally to die for, so I’m okay with that.
Stella is the only one on earth I know who has a worse dating life than I do (she’s forever ruined the idea that if only I was attracted to women, my romantic life would be simpler). She’s told me multiple times that I need to get over myself. Turns out, relationships are just freakin’ hard, no matter who you’re attracted to.
“I dumped Terran,” she announces as she unwraps her lox and bagel. She’s wearing her typical work outfit: from the waist up, a tasteful sweater, muted makeup, and her dark curls loose down her shoulders. Waist down, however, she’s wearing faded joggers and a pair of her most comfortable vintage sneakers.
