I hit send. The text pops up on the screen, and it looks like a freaking novel. I nearly groaned at myself. I should have put this into an email. Texts are just so—so, I don’t know. Blah. But now that I have sent it already, I guess I should forget about switching to email. So, I keep going, trying not to blow up Cliff’s phone, but also trying to keep the texts from being three feet long.
Rowan: I haven’t had the courage to do anything I’ve truly wanted to do. I felt safe. My job paid the bills. I could afford my own place. I was scared to go out there and do what I really wanted. I’ve stayed in a lot of things that weren’t good for me because I was scared. Because I just couldn’t see what was happening. Thank you for helping me open my eyes.
Rowan: (blushing face emoji) Sorry, maybe that’s coming on too strong. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant our conversations helped as well—the things you said to me. I did have some help from my sister, too, so you’re not entirely to blame.
Rowan: That was a joke, btw.
Rowan: Okay, well, before this gets weird, I’m going to drive my butt home and get working on my resume.
Rowan: I know you’re probably not up yet, but when you are, and when you read these, please feel free to come over. You’re probably a master at resumes. I could use the pointers.
Rowan: I mean if you want to. I’m not trying to use you for resume help.
Rowan: Unless you want to be used, that is. In which case, I could make an exception. (winking face emoji)
There is no answer, and I can tell my texts haven’t been read. I’m appalled at how many I sent, so I tuck my phone safely at the bottom of my tote and concentrate on driving back home. I have to say my stomach is a mess of nervous butterflies, but they’re good butterflies. They’re happy butterflies. The kind of butterflies that make me feel like I did the right thing. They’re excited butterflies. Hopeful butterflies. A new beginning kind of butterflies.
After I get back to my apartment, I check my phone. I have to admit I’m disappointed. Cliff hasn’t read my messages yet. I make myself set my phone away so I can sit down on the couch in the living room, open my laptop, and browse for jobs. I know I’ll probably have to do a lot of legwork myself, especially if I want to get a job at one of the shops I like. They likely wouldn’t post that they were hiring, but if I went in and talked to the owners or managers—people who already know me because I shop at their stores so often—I might actually have a chance.
After browsing through a few pages of job ads, none of which are very exciting, I refuse to get disappointed or discouraged. I get out my phone to check a few other sites, but instead, I lose myself in social media for a few hours. One of my favorite sites posted a dozen new vintage finds, and the hours tick by after that.
I’m not used to being at home on a Monday. Not having a schedule, deadlines, clients to follow up, or profiles to go over is just weird. I check my texts again, but Cliff still hasn’t read my messages.
I set my phone down and plod into the kitchen to make myself a smoothie and a sandwich. After that, I sit down and work on my resume for a good three hours like a possessed woman. I don’t come up for air, and by the time I’m done, I’m shocked to see how much time has passed. I pick up my phone to check the time, but I can’t help checking my texts. My messages still aren’t read.
Weird. It’s almost three. Cliff has to be up by now. Maybe he’s one of those people who doesn’t check his phone often. I should have emailed him. I’m sure he’s going to respond.
We left the barn without any expectations, but I felt like there was a lot of stuff that went unsaid. We opened up to each other. We shared something monumental. Something special. He isn’t one of those guys who uses someone and then ghosts them. He wasn’t just after one thing.
We didn’t talk yesterday, but I also didn’t feel the need to get on my phone and call or text him. I felt happy. Blissed out. Special. I felt like a lot of things made sense. I didn’t need confirmation that we were on the same page.
Did I?
I force myself up from the couch. My eyes are blurry from staring at my laptop screen for so long. I have a pretty ancient printer sitting on an older end table in the corner of the room, so I print off ten copies of my new resume to start.
I was already dressed for work. My hair and makeup are passable. Taking a deep breath, I grab my car keys and decide to go drop a few resumes off. At least that way, if I don’t get any calls within the next couple of days, I’ll know I have to start looking for something to tide me over until I get a job I actually enjoy.
