In the background I hear Dad’s exasperated voice. “Calm down, Audrey. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
There’s more rustling and I hear the sound of their ancient computer boot to life. For a few minutes I simply pick at a nail, waiting.
“Okay, I’m back,” Mum says at last. “Single in the City? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“My life as a single girl in New York City,” Mum reads aloud. “Who needs men when you can live a fabulous life alone?”
I cringe as I hear my own words read back to me. Something about them grates at me, doesn’t sit right. I guess after developing this silly little crush on Michael, I’ve been slipping back into my old ways a bit.
It’s been a week since we went on our non-date around the city, and I smile whenever I think of it. I’m not sure how else to explain it, but it’s like Michael kind of woke something in me. I’d forgotten what it’s like to really like a guy. I haven’t felt this feeling for ages—not even with Travis. In fact, the more distance I get from that whole thing, the more I realize it wasn’t quite the romantic comedy I thought it was. It was definitely a lot more com than rom, that’s for sure. And now, I barely think of him.
Michael, on the other hand, I cannot get out of my mind. After our day out, I’ve been letting myself imagine how nice it would be if some of my fantasies weren’t just in my head. I know it’s silly, that I should know better now, and I’ve been trying to fight it—without much success. It’s making for some great romance writing, at least.
But that does make me feel a bit weird about my single blog. Because even though there are some great things about being single, it kind of blows when you’ve got a crush on someone.
“Is this right, Alexis? You’re swearing off men?”
“Yes. Well—no, not forever. Just for… a while.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Are you sure that’s wise, darling, avoiding men? You’re not getting any younger. Don’t you want to have a family?”
I suppress a groan, rolling onto my back to contemplate the ceiling. I probably should have seen this coming. “It’s not forever, Mum. I just don’t feel like being with anyone right now.” Though as I say this, I feel a little twinge in my stomach. I promptly ignore it.
“Hmm,” she says again, and I have to bite my tongue. I know she doesn’t give Harriet this much of a hard time about settling down. But then, she is a few years younger, and Mum and Dad have never been as hard on her as they are on me. She doesn’t exactly give them much to complain about.
“I don’t mean to be discouraging, sweetheart,” Mum says. “But surely there are other things you could write about, without having to sign up for some crazy project like this?”
“It’s not crazy,” I say, feeling defensive. “I’m choosing to focus on my writing and that means not dating for a while. It’s not like I’ve had my uterus removed.”
“Don’t be so sensitive, darling.”
A frustrated breath gusts out of me. My parents have always complained that I’m too sensitive, and the minute I get even the tiniest bit annoyed or defensive, Mum whips out that line. I have to hand it to her, though—it works. Because what am I supposed to say to that?
“I’m surprised you’re even wanting to write about this,” she continues. “I assumed you’d be writing one of those ridiculous romance novels you love so much. Always dreaming of Prince Charming.”
My cheeks heat with shame. Good thing I didn’t mention my novel, then. She’d just see that as concrete proof that I’m living in a fantasy.
And then I think of how much I’ve been enjoying writing about Matthew and Annie. Except, it’s not really about them, is it? We all know who it’s really about. Which would be fine, but I don’t just write about Michael, I think about him. All the time. Like a bloody lovesick teenager.
I swallow back the acidic taste of disgust in my mouth. What is wrong with me? How did I let myself end up back here again?
“Yes, well,” I mumble, resolving to sort myself the fuck out. “Don’t worry about that, Mum.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us and I’m about to end the call when Mum speaks.
“Have you given any thought to when you might come home?”
I frown. “What? No.”
“We’re going to miss you at Christmas. And then it’s Harriet’s birthday later in January, so if you’re back by then, we could—”
“Jesus,” I mutter, staring at the ceiling and wishing it would cave in on me. “I won’t be home in January. You know I’ve moved here, right? I live here now.”
“Well, yes. I know you wanted to move to the big city and do your writing, and the blog is very nice. But you did give up an awful lot just to write a few words on a little website.”
Irritation fizzles in my gut and I make myself take a deep breath. “Mum—”
“I just think that maybe it’s time you grew up and got back to the real world. If you came home, darling, I’m sure I could talk to Julie about getting you another job at the bookstore. It probably wouldn’t be assistant manager again, but—”
“Mum, stop,” I snap, sitting up on the bed. I press my balled fist into my eye, willing myself to stay calm. I should have known this is exactly how this conversation would go. “I like living here. I like writing my blog. And I’m not coming home.”
There’s silence on the other end and I grind my jaw, knowing this is going nowhere.
“I have to go,” I mutter. “I’ll… speak to you soon.” I hang up the call and toss my phone aside. My eyes land on my laptop and I reach for it, determined to get this blog post
