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One
Leesa
I take a seat on my old swing that hangs on my front porch. It’s getting darker earlier lately and the sun has already begun to sink in the sky. I'm lounging in a giant t-shirt with my knee-high socks. It’s my favorite thing to wear after a long day at work. And boy was today a killer. I knew starting my own business would be demanding, but I don’t think I realized just how bad it would be.
I take a bite out of the hot, steaming mug of homemade vegetable soup I’ve had cooking in the crockpot all day. This is definitely comfort food at its best. My grandmother taught me how to make it, and I love it. I stare at my phone when I put my spoon down and sigh.
I swear all I get anymore is junk mail. Buried underneath that, however, are some new emails from Seeking Curves—which is a high-end dating agency. Going to them was kind of a last-ditch effort to find someone to bring into my life. That’s another drawback about starting your own business, finding a boyfriend is next to impossible—mostly because I don’t have time to breathe. Well, that and it seems like the dating pool has been infested by losers—at least for me anyway.
My phone rings and I look at the caller ID. It's Denise, my very best friend in world. I answer it, thinking she can help me sort through the new applications—because honestly, I’m starting to regret even putting my profile in. Besides it was Denise that convinced me to apply.
"Hey woman, I was calling to see if you survived today,” Denise laughs. I can hear her chewing and know she's probably doing the same thing as me, minus browsing the emails from Bianca. Bianca is the secretary at Seeking Curves.
"I'm going through the responses Bianca sent over,” I admit. “I’m also wondering how I let you talk me into this crap."
"Because you are beautiful, smart, ambitious, and you need a man in your life. I need to live vicariously through you—because my man wouldn’t know what romance was if it hit him over the head.”
“You love Wally,” I remind her.
“I do, but I miss romance and dating. I’ll just live through you, and if you're not dating, I can't do that." I can hear the fake pout in her voice and laugh. She definitely has a flare for the dramatic.
"This was a big mistake, though. I don’t have time to date right now anyway. It’s the truth, but God it would be nice to come home and have someone to cuddle with.
"There's no such thing as too busy to date. You just keep saying that because you're afraid."
"Yeah, of course, I'm afraid. There's no telling who I might be matched with. Do you remember all the questions they asked me?" I hold the phone between my head and shoulder as I put my soup on the table beside my swing, having trouble balancing it and my phone. "Some of them were way too personal, and others were just downright embarrassing."
"Of course, I remember. Did you forget that I helped you answer all those? Your face looked like a bright red tomato—especially with that last question about your favorite sexual fantasy."
God, that had been embarrassing to talk about with Denise. I mean, we’re besties but there should be some things we don’t share.
"I'll read you the responses, but seriously I have the worst feeling about it. Do you remember the last guy I went out with when I tried one of those dating apps? He was like twenty years older than me, working in fast food with no plans on pursuing anything else. He walked in smelling like McDonald’s French fries.”
“You like French fries, Lee,” she giggles.
“He took me to McDonalds for dinner and used his employee discount and ordered off the value menu.”
“Well, I mean, having a guy that’s thrifty is kind of a good thing,” she replies—still giggling.
“And he bought one medium fry so we could share because no one could eat that many potatoes.”
“He took you to the movies, though, right?”
“Oh yeah… the free movie in the park.”
“Well, that’s kind of romantic, Lee.”
“It was December, and we got that cold snap, remember?”
“Hah! Yeah, I remember. Luckily your boobs didn’t get frostbite.”
“By the end of the date and the way he kept finding reasons to brush against them, I was kind of sad they didn’t. That way they would have fallen off and I wouldn’t have had to keep slapping his hand away.”
“You do somehow always attract the bottom of the barrel,” she agrees—still giggling I might add. “At least he didn’t have a unibrow, did he?”
“A unibrow? What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I was just wondering. I feel like I wouldn't be able to look away from a unibrow." At this point, she is cackling, and I can only shake my head as I laugh with her.
