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I pull on my headphones and open up my podcast software. I have a planned Tuesday twenty-minute session where I talk about certain questions and information I’ve researched. The podcast gained a following fast and brought in readers to our online paper from all over. My little Ask Annie column has readers far and wide now.
My listeners are used to an occasional, casual thought from Annie. I need to talk this out. If it’s terrible, I won’t publish it.But I want to be honest. I cast my gaze back down at that arrow, pointing toward my palm. I want to be true to myself and the person who’s asked this question.
“Hey, everyone,” I say. I’ll add my instrumental intro set later. I just need to get this out. “Annie, here. I’ve got a question that’s stumping me. A question that needs more voices than my own.” I don’t even realize how right I am until the words are out of my mouth. “Most of you know that I’m not married. I haven’t foundthe oneyet. I also just got out of a two-month relationship. Not long and notthe one. But this question has me wondering… What if there isn’t one person for me? One right, whole, perfect person to fill my boyfriend role for the rest of forever?
“Sad in Sandpoint has asked: What if THE ONE doesn’t exist? When do I decide to settle for option number two?” I swallow and look down at her P.S. For now, I skip over it. “Friends, I just broke up with a guy because he talked about his cat too much, and his last name made me cringe. Are those really good reasons? Did I just throw away an opportunity for ‘the one?’ I don’t know. Maybe there isn’t one person for everyone. Maybe it’s up to us what we choose to make of each relationship. I don’t think anyone should settle, but then maybe we get out of a relationship what we put in. Maybe we create ‘the one.’” I stop talking. I’m rambling, not thinking. Just thoughts on top of thoughts.
But maybe I’m right. I switch off my mic and sit back in my office chair, forgetting what Maddox Powell said to me all those years ago. For my reader’s sake.
Maybe we create “the one.”
“H
ow opposed are you to falling in love?” I stand on Owen’s front porch, hands on hips.
“Ahh…” My best friend looks more confused than normal.
“Why are you in pajama bottoms? And why the ice pack?” A blue-gelled pack with ice crystals melting and dripping at the corners is tucked in Owen’s palm. I snatch my phone from my back pocket and bring it to life. 3:24 pm. “Wait. Why are you home? You don’t get home from school until four. Sometimes four-thirty.”
I hadn’t paid attention to the time, just my need to talk to Owen. I can’t test this theory on myself—my heart and fears won’t let me. But Owen—he is the most lovable person I know. If anyone deserves love, it’s him.
“I had an accident at school.”
“An accident?” I move past Owen, letting myself inside.
“Yeah. Nothing major, but the school nurse says I might have a minor concussion.”
“Concussion! You teach science, not P.E.” How in the world did this happen? I’m tempted to smack the man’s arm. What is he doing hurting himself? But then, he is concussed, so maybe hitting him isn’t the best idea.
I slip my hand into his, shut the door behind me, and lead him over to the one piece of furniture in his massive living room: his hand-me-down couch. “Talk.”
“Um—”
“You know, tell me what happened.”
He blinks—like remembering is difficult. Or maybe painful. “I fell out of my chair.”
I shake my head. Now, I’m confused. “Explain.”
Owen groans and slaps the blue gel pack to the back of his head. “I was sitting at my desk, reading your text, actually.” He swallows, blue eyes on me. “And the crappy chair at school just... just slid out from under me. I landed on my backside.”
“How does a chair just slide out—did it break?”
“No.” He shakes his head again. “It’s a crappy chair. I don’t know exactly how it happened. Just that it did. In front ofthirtyseventh graders.”
I press my fingers to my vaulted mouth, attempting to stifle a laugh. My middle finger presses up on my nose. I loosen the Hulk-press I’ve got going, and with it a giggle escapes. I swallow down the chuckle. “Oh, Owen.”
“Yeah.” He shuts his eyes and leans his head against the back of the couch, the ice pack sandwiched between his head and the back cushion. “I’ve had those kids for three weeks. I’ll have them for forty more. The only thing they’re going to remember me by is Phyllis Macey attempting to pick me up in her arms and carry me out of the room.”
“Mrs. Macey is still the school nurse?” Another bout of giggles leaks through my filter, and I smash my lips together.
I’m worried. I care.
But he isn’t making this easy.
“She is. And she’s still bodybuilding.”
I can’t stop the laughter that takes over my body. “Owen,” I say, between breaths and giggles. “O.” I try so hard to look sad, to look sorry, but it’s hard to be convincing when my laughter has taken on a mind and life of its own. I take his hand in mine again. I hold it tight and press it close to my chest. “That’s awful. Just awful.”
