Bullshit.
He saw a cash cow and held it against me when our own son wanted nothing to do with the father who’d abandoned him at ten.
I shoved the lasagna into the oven, even though it was just me. Braden was at his home with his new fiancée, who I adored. And Amelia wanted to stay at a friend’s house since she was stressed out about the results from the doctor. I really couldn’t blame her.
I just felt…
Alone.
Then again, that was what happened when you got pregnant at sixteen and had a fully grown man child already at thirty-nine. You get lonely. It was strange watching some of my friends marry later, only because now they were the ones with infants and toddlers. They were stressed out about daycare, breastfeeding, organic formula, and everything else under the sun, while I had a son who was out of college and ruling the world with his music, a daughter who was currently in her freshman year of college, and another daughter who was in high school.
I frowned down at my hands.
They looked frail, but I was still in my thirties — the last year of my thirties. My body didn’t feel as tight as it used to be, because it wasn’t. And everything about me just felt off.
As if I’d missed it somehow. I’d created these perfect humans, but now that it was time for me to enjoy them and enjoy the empty nest, I’d never felt so empty.
I poured myself a glass of red wine and stared at my reflection in the perfect double oven.
Dark chocolate hair with shots of red, bright green eyes, and so short in stature my own son had towered over me by the time he was twelve. I had curves that most people would kill for, which meant if I as much as breathed next to chocolate, it looked as if I’d gone into anaphylaxis.
In my mind, my face was passable, skin a pale ivory, thanks to my Irish heritage. My body was at least better than average, but my height killed any extra points I got in that arena.
Was it so much to ask for someone to just—? I didn’t even know. It wasn’t like I wanted to jump into another relationship, right?
I took another gulp of wine, just as my phone buzzed.
Probably Amelia.
It buzzed again.
And then one more time.
Seriously?
I set my goblet down on the white granite countertop and picked up my phone. The number was unknown.
Unknown: Thinking about me?
Unknown: I’m thinking about you…
Unknown: Am I your favorite too?
What the heck!
What pervert had my number?
I texted back immediately.
Me: Hey creeper, I don’t know you, and I’m pretty sure you don’t know me, so do us both a favor and lose this number.
I rolled my eyes as the bubbles appeared. They were texting back?
Unknown: I could be a girl.
Me: Girls are too intelligent to steal a random number; also, we’re a lot less desperate.
Unknown: Ouch! Would it help if I sent a selfie?
Me: Swear on your life, if you send me a dick pic, I will file a police report.
Unknown: Damn it, caught.
Who was this insane person?!
Me: Gross. Just. Leave me alone!
Unknown: See, that was the thing. You kind of inspired me today. I’m thinking we should be friends.
You know you’re desperate when a pervy stranger offers friendship, and you almost say, “Sure, yeah, that sounds good. Wanna come over, say around eight sharp? Bring popcorn!”
Me: Find other friends.
Unknown: They don’t inspire me the same way you do.
Me: Maybe they’re shitty friends? And do I even want to know what inspire means?
Unknown: I’ll send you a pic.
Me: Yeah, we’ve been over this. Don’t send me—
I stopped typing when a picture appeared of a notebook with words scribbled down. Poetry? Huh?
I deleted my original text and started over.
Me: You’re a poet?
Unknown: Sort of.
Me: So?
Unknown: Five pages, you inspired five full pages. That’s a big deal.
Me: I’ll make sure to let myself have extra dessert tonight. Bye.
Unknown: We should hang out.
Me: You are seriously creeping me out right now. I don’t know you!
Unknown: Well, I guess that was true. We did meet briefly. I was somewhat of an ass to you by not recognizing you right away and commenting on your daughter’s eating habits because I was worried she was too thin. Then again, the entire conversation is a little bit of a blank. I was focusing too hard on your hair.
Unknown: You still there? Or did I manage to take the creepiness to the ultimate level? Shit, you’re getting a restraining order, aren’t you?
With shaking hands, I texted back.
Me: Drew? Amhurst?
Unknown: Just Drew. Don’t full-name me, I beg you.
Me: HOW did you get my number? I said, no!
Unknown: Amelia deserves a friendship high five, maybe move her to the top spot in your little circle. I begged her for it, and she’s sixteen, so we made a deal. Concert tickets and an Instagram shout-out for her mom’s number. It was almost too easy…
I burst out laughing.
Me: Too easy, huh? She said you wouldn’t stop talking about your pet goldfish and the bunion on your foot!
Unknown: (Gasps) Ground her. Immediately. Bunions? I’m thirty-six! Do people really get bunions at thirty-six? Never mind, don’t tell me. I’ll have nightmares about feet, and the last thing the world needs is me rhyming bunion with Funyun in my next song.
Me: The world is not ready, Drew. Not even a little bit.
Unknown: That’s something a true friend would say…
I sighed and then realized I was smiling, smiling so hard at my phone that I probably looked insane.
Me: I’m ignoring that. Is there a reason you needed my number? Why not just ask Braden?
Unknown: Because I like living, and he’s a redhead. Do the math.
Me: He’s harmless.
Unknown: Unless you push him, and then his temper is legendary — Side note, you should have pinned
