12
My phone rings from my nightstand, and I reach forward, my eyes heavy with sleep as I slide my hand across the screen, attempting to dismiss the call and send it to voice mail.
Much to my relief, it silences, and I drop my head back to my pillow.
Seconds later, it rings again.
I groan my protests but reach for it again, this time forcing my eyes to open. Catherine’s name on the screen has me groaning louder.
“Hello?”
“Were you sleeping?” she asks. Before I can remind her that it’s Saturday, she continues, “I need you to pass a couple of projects off and focus on something for me. My son is opening a new bar, and I want the grand opening to be flawless. Do you recall last year when we did the soft opening, and then grand opening, for that bakery that everyone was dying for? I want that but even more extravagant.”
“When is it opening?” I ask, holding my breath.
“Eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks?” I croak.
“It was supposed to be later, but his business partner just got engaged, and they want to open before the wedding. It’s a mess, but I know if anyone can make this happen, you can.”
I want to tell her that she can. That Glitter and Gold is her business and this is her son. I already have a full plate, and though she’s suggesting I remove a few things from my already-hectic schedule, pulling off two grand openings is a full-time job.
“Is it established? Is there a guest list?”
“This will be unique, and I’ll help as much as I can, but this will be June, and I’ll be swamped with weddings and events.”
I clamp a hand to my forehead, pushing my hair out of my face.
“I’ve already set up a time for you to go to the bar so you can meet him and get a feel for the place and where things should go. He’s insisting on making it minimal, but he doesn’t understand that PR help is what will make or break this venture, so you’ll need to be firm with him, and if he gives you any grief, just let me know.”
Perfect.
He’s just like his mother.
“You’re meeting him Wednesday at noon.”
“Wednesday at noon,” I repeat back to her. “I’ll add it to my calendar, but I’ll need your help. Sue Ellen was handling most of the restaurants and bars and had connections with the reviewers.”
“I’ve already sent you a list. Haven’t you checked your emails yet this morning?”
I roll to my side and look at the red digits on my alarm clock. “It’s not even seven.”
“Exactly. The only people who sleep in this late are on drugs.”
My face contorts with objections, which exhaustion nearly allows to escape.
“Check your email, and don’t forget—Wednesday at noon.” She hangs up.
“I quit,” I say, dropping my phone to the nightstand. “You’re crazy! Crazy!”
Annoyance has me too tired to fall back asleep. If this was six weeks ago, I’d get out of bed and go make a fresh pot of coffee and flip through the paper to see wedding announcements, a tradition that hasn’t fully retired since it still holds the thrill for many parents and brides-to-be. But it’s Saturday, which means Dan likely has Gemma and Theo downstairs, watching cartoons and playing—splayed out across the living room. He does this each week so Felicity has the rare opportunity to sleep in; however, I’ve quickly learned he looks forward to this ritual, enjoying their special bonding time. So, I lie back on my pillows, enjoying the comfort of my bed and the warmth and weight of the comforter. Thoughts of last night bubble to the forefront of my mind. Recalling the warmth of Levi’s touch, the timbre of his voice, and ease of his laughter.
I can still see his invisible handprint on my arm, making my heart strum as I sit back farther, the pillows practically swallowing me.
Last night, Felicity finally took a break from the dance floor just in time to catch sight of Levi before he had to leave following a series of messages he received.
“Who was that?” she’d asked.
I’d tried to play it off and act casual with a shrug of my shoulders. “Just some guy.”
She cocked her head, staring at me for three long seconds before her jaw dropped and her eyes got wide. “You’re smiling!” she cried.
I shook my head dismissively. “He was funny, but it was nothing.”
“You’re smiling!” she repeated. “Not just smiling, but glowing! I haven’t seen this face since…” she paused, her eyes thinning with thought. “Since you had that crush on that guy we met in New York you thought was so dreamy.”
“I never called him dreamy.”
“I know. I was saving you the embarrassment of all the ridiculous things you did think about him.”
I glared at her.
“His name’s Levi, and he works here.”
“Did he ask you out?”
I stared at her, debating my answer.
“He did!” She squealed, grasping my arm. “Tell me you said yes—or at least said you’d think about it!”
“He didn’t really ask, more suggested I contact him.”
Felicity’s brow furrowed. “Like a … booty call?”
“No…” I leaned against the bar, working to decipher his intentions as she eyed me, her lips turned up with a smirk.
“Is he coming back?” She’d turned, staring in the direction he’d disappeared.
“I don’t think so.”
“But you’re going to call him, right?”
I held up the napkin with his information scribbled across it.
Felicity grinned, snatching it from my grasp. She carefully folded it and opened my purse, sliding the napkin safely into my wallet. “Ready for a second round?” she asked.
The interaction with Levi had left me in a daze of happiness I hated to admit was caused by him but knew it was. However, I embraced the feeling and didn’t fight the easy laughter that flowed from my lips in agreeance.
While she finished her second martini, I took occasional sips of mine, and then we went back out to the dance floor until just after midnight, when she turned to me and apologized for being exhausted, and I drove her home while she slept in one of the seats she had told me were so comfortable.
I lean over the edge of the bed to grab my purse and dig through it until I find the napkin still tucked inside of my wallet. I let the purse fall back to the floor while staring at his handwriting. Each character is the same height, the numbers each narrow, while the letters are all uppercase and written so they almost look harsh. Scratches instead of letters. Yet, it’s legible and almost artistic.
I set the napkin on the nightstand and flip the duvet off, dropping my legs to the side of the bed to retrieve my laptop. Of all the tasks and responsibilities I have at Glitter and Gold, all the random and eccentric useless details I know regarding Catherine’s life, diet, and preferences, the one thing I have no experience with is our website. It takes me a solid hour to determine which platform I’m going to use for my blog and then another to decide on the background color. I call it Tales of Being Single.
My fingers hover over the keys as I determine how I’m going to write the introduction. I have no idea what to expect. If someone—anyone—will ever read my words, but the possibility brings forth a sense of caution that is fueled by self-consciousness.
I decide to make the introduction brief and vague.
Welcome to Tales of Being Single, my personal journey of learning how to be single.
As my thirtieth birthday approaches, I’m facing a task I should have learned more than a decade ago: how to be comfortable alone.
Some may choose to be single, others don’t, but regardless, when we look in the closet and only find one person’s belongings, one toothbrush in the bathroom, and a single agenda for the weekend, you’re forced to deal with the reality that things are different. Things are going to change. Good, bad, or indifferent, there’s a new reality dawning. To baptize this moment, I’m starting this blog to share my adventures and experiences as a single woman in Chicago.
Then I begin my first blog entry.
April 3
“Letting Go”
My best friend and I tackled rock climbing this week. We were both novices but anxious to discover another sport that we could do in yoga pants. Not certain of what to expect, we did a little research so we would be prepared (aka not look like complete idiots). Unfortunately, looking like an idiot was unavoidable—at least in my case. We arrived at the rock climbing center, keep in mind we went to an indoor facility, and ventured inside on a weekend. Not knowing anyone who rock climbs personally, I was surprised to find how busy it was. They provided us with shoes that reminded me of water moccasins and then equipped us with harnesses—the first stage of feeling a bit awkward because a stranger’s hands worked to secure said harness near your … nether regions. That high school insecurity aside, they provided us with an instructor who taught us the basics, starting with the safety instructions, before we signed our limbs, vital organs, and lives away—seriously.
Next, with my harness attached to my instructor, I scaled the first wall, which had larger “rocks” for my feet and hands to grip.
Surprisingly, I found climbing up the wall quite easy.
Then karma came and backhanded me. (This is the part where I looked like an idiot, so take note.)
Once I was at the very top, the instructor told me to let go.
I was thirty feet in the air with a death grip on those fake rocks, trying to convince myself that the belaying rope attached to my harness would indeed support me as he swore it would—even showed me it would before I had climbed all the way to the top.
“Just let go!” He made it sound so easy. So simple.
I told him I wasn’t Elsa. That I wasn’t good at letting go.
He laughed and began singing. My fingers began cramping. Then I watched a seven-year-old do it and forced myself to pull up my big girl panties, and what do you know, it did in fact support me.
We continued to climb additional walls, even tried a few where we had the challenge of climbing horizontally versus vertically, which I found to be a much bigger struggle.
I laughed.
I sweated far more than I’d expected.
And most importantly, I learned that letting go was much easier after that first time.
I read through it twice, wondering if I’m revealing too much. If others will understand how the term “letting go” refers to so much more than the physical act of releasing that wall and how profound it felt when I was finally able to do it.
Knowing that the chances of anyone discovering my blog are next to none considering there are no less than five billion blogs, I treat it like an online diary and go as far as adding some pictures I’d taken while we were there.
It feels refreshing to see the post. To see that I am in fact moving forward, trying new things, and making the promise to myself and the World Wide Web that I’m going to continue.
I decide it’s time to let go of another fear and reach for my phone so I can text Levi.
Me: Would the fans maul me if I were to wear a shirt that was half-black and half-red?
It’s still fairly early, so I don’t expect him to reply as I stand and gather my things for a shower. But as I reach for my duvet to make my bed, he does.
Levi: You can wear white, pink, orange, green, or gray.
Me: What?! There’s a dress code?
Levi: Want me to just tell you which team is better so you know who to cheer on?
Me: I was planning to cheer on the Cubbies. I like their uniforms better.
Levi: …
Levi: You’re killing me.
With a smile pulling on my lips, I sit back on the bed, considering what to say. It’s been so long since I’ve flirted with someone, especially someone I don’t know. He might find my sense of humor strange. He might not realize sarcasm is my first line of defense when I’m uncomfortable. He may not consider this feels monumental for me. Then I panic when I consider if he knows exactly how big of a deal this is. How he might have expected me to message him. How he likely believes I’m desperate because he knows I recently got out of a relationship and I’m texting the man twelve hours after meeting him.
There are rules.
Dating rules.
Commonsense rules.
Self-respect rules.
And over the past several years that I’ve been in a relationship, cocooned from this world and the many facets, I’ve been oblivious to exactly how many of these rules exist and even what they are.
I stand up, and rather than head to the shower, I stalk to the stairwell and wait to hear Dan’s voice before continuing my journey to Felicity’s room, where I swing the door open and stomp to her bed.
“You’ve failed me as a best friend,” I announce, lying down in a dramatic heap beside her.
She mumbles incoherently.
“You’ve been with Dan since you were twenty. Twenty!” I cry. “I have no idea what the social norms are when it comes to dating or being single.”
“How is this my fault?” Her words slur. Long strands of her dark hair remain in her face, blocking a clear sight of her.
“Because one of us was supposed to be normal. One of us was supposed to learn these facts.”
“You need coffee.”
“I texted him!” I cry.
This makes her move, swiping the hair from her face so she can look at me with rounded eyes. “What did you say?”
“I don’t know. Something stupid because I don’t know how to be cute or flirt! I don’t know how to be a girl!”
“I thought he was no one and you didn’t care?”
I bury my face into a pillow and scream. When I lift my face, Felicity is smiling. “Okay…” I sigh. “I feel a little … a little”—I repeat, holding my thumb and forefinger out with a fraction of space between them—“interested in him.”
Her smile turns radiant.
“Stop smiling!” I reach forward and bop her with the pillow. “I have no idea how to do this.”
“You’re going to be fine. Did he text you back yet?”
I nod.
“What did he say?”
“That I was killing him.”
Her eyebrows soar upward. “Maybe we should read something or call some friends over…”
I groan.
My phone chirps, and Felicity and I both stop, staring at each other for a solid moment before we dig through the blankets I’ve tangled in search of my phone.
Levi: There’s a game tomorrow at 1:05. We could meet at 11. There’s a bar just two blocks from the field. You in?
Felicity throws a fist into the air and cheers.