CHAPTER EIGHT
HOLLY
I stared angrily at my phone’s calendar.
It had been four months since Stephen had left me. It was almost funny to me that I could so vividly remember the day he crushed every semblance of my self-worth, self-confidence, and self-esteem, and yet … I could hardly remember the sound of his voice or the way he smelled right after a shower. My entire life with him had become some faraway land that had stopped feeling real. Nothing more than hazy memories, maybe even dreams, and it was awful not remembering what I still missed so much.
Camille climbed onto the bed to flop down on my chest, licking my chin once she had settled. I smiled sleepily, scratching behind her ears.
“At least I have you to kiss me good morning,” I mumbled, my voice weighed down by the lingering sleep.
Rolling out of bed, I left my room and headed into the kitchen to find Liz sitting at her laptop with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. She looked up through her thick-rimmed glasses and gave me a bright smile.
“Wow, you’re up! Good morning,” she said cheerfully.
I grumbled my reply, temporarily hating her for possessing the ability to be chipper in the morning. I slumped into a chair next to her at the table and spotted the box of doughnuts. Without bothering to use my words, I pointed at the box and by means of sister-to-sister telepathy, she knew exactly what I meant and grabbed the very doughnut I wanted.
“Thank you,” I said through a mouthful of iced pastry. “Anna happy to see her dad?”
“Well, of course, because he’s the fun parent,” she said nonchalantly before taking a long sip of her tea and then proceeded to smack her lips. “He and Heather are taking Anna to that new trampoline place today. I warned him about giving her anything to eat beforehand, but let’s see if he actually listens.” She snorted a laugh and fidgeted with a strand of her blonde hair, probably fantasizing about Anna throwing up all over Mark’s new Nikes. “I should’ve told Heather instead, but she was busy with Jacob. God, he’s getting so big.”
I never understood how Liz could so easily carry on a relationship with her cheating ex-husband and his mistress-turned-wife. She had once told me it was because of Anna, but I sometimes questioned if they would’ve remained friends regardless.
Some bonds can’t be broken, even after they’ve gotten a little bruised and ugly, and seeing the grin on her face, I wondered if I could ever reach a point of being friends with Stephen again.
I snorted a laugh to chase that ridiculous thought away.
“Anyway,” Liz said, “I saw Esther outside and told her we’d help pull some weeds for her today.”
I shot her a disbelieving look as I popped the rest of the doughnut into my mouth. “Is she okay with that?”
Liz grunted a laugh. “Oh, hell no, but I’m afraid she’s going to break an arm one of these days with the way she yanks at those things, and I don’t know about you, but I’m really not up to helping her apply her bunion cream.”
“Or the hemorrhoid cream,” I added with a shudder and left the table to get dressed.
***
Esther’s backyard had been off-limits to her for years since realizing she could no longer handle the stairs off her back deck. When I told her that my dad is a carpenter and perfectly capable of whipping up a nice ramp for her, she shooed the very concept away, insisting she wasn’t old enough for a fucking ramp and that she wouldn’t even know what to do with a yard that big, anyway.
So her enjoyment of the outdoors was limited to the front yard, where she kept a few raised box gardens against the front of the house full of perennial plants her son Robert had brought over for Mother’s Day one year. Her lawn and shrubbery were meticulously kept by a gardener Robert paid monthly, keeping the place looking neat until the next time. But it was the time in between that was the problem.
“Esther, I’m not seeing any weeds,” I whined from my hands and knees, looking underneath a large juniper bush.
“Oh yeah?” She jabbed the tip of her cane towards something next to my hand. “Then what do you call that?”
Sighing, I held the maple leaf up. “A leaf, Esther. I call it a leaf.”
She let out a huff. “Get rid of the damn thing. That Ricardo always misses something. I don’t know why Robert wastes his money. I tell him there’s always leaves all over the place after that man has left.” Liz and I exchanged a look after searching the yard for any other rogue leaves. There were maybe two, and that was including the one I held. “You girls want some cookies? I have a fresh batch inside.”
“Of course, she does,” Liz whispered to me, pouting as she pinched at her nonexistent muffin top.
“Oh, yes, you’re so fat,” I mumbled, not bothering to mention that my heavily elasticized yoga pants were starting to cut into my sides.
We followed Esther into the house, making sure to smile at the picture of her late husband Harry hanging above the TV. I had once forgotten to and she threatened to send his spirit to haunt me while I was trying to shower. Harry was apparently quite the pervert and wouldn’t argue with that type of arrangement, she insisted, and to spare myself the possibility of seeing apparitions in a foggy bathroom mirror, I never forgot to acknowledge the man of the house again.
Walking through her dated house, her furniture potential candidates for a display in the Smithsonian, we entered the dining room as she tottered into the kitchen to retrieve the cookies. We waited without a single word, each of us taking a seat at the old wooden table that seated more people than she saw most months out of the year.
Esther loved telling tales of how she would once host family get-togethers on a regular basis for her sisters, her husband’s siblings, and all their families. But once everybody started leaving, whether in death or a change in location, the get-togethers slowed to hardly ever at all. Even her son would pick her up and take her out to his place in Brooklyn whenever the family did get together, so her home sat, full of memories without any hope of creating new ones.
“How’s work, Elizabeth?” Esther said, carrying in a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies.
Reaching to take them from her, Liz said, “Oh, you know, the usual. Dr. Martin recently took on a whole new set of patients after I told him to put that ad in the paper; which is good, except Debbie decided to leave after having the baby. So, I’ve been handling these new patient files and these different insurance companies, and I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but I think I might be going insane.” She took a bite of her cookie and with a shake of her head, she added, “I’m actually regretting the whole ‘ad in the paper’ thing.”
Esther shoved a napkin toward Liz as the crumbs dropped to the table’s surface. “Elizabeth, I just wiped this table down.” My sister hurriedly apologized and swept the cookie debris into the napkin. “If Debbie left and you’re taking on her workload, doesn’t that mean more money for you?”
“My hours haven’t changed so, no.” Liz sighed with a roll of her eyes. “Dr. Martin promised that I’d be getting a raise at the end of the year, but we’ll see about that.”
Esther waved her hands in the air. “Oh no, honey. If your workload is changing because that tart Debbie went and got herself knocked up, never to return to work again, then you deserve more money. Put your damn foot down.”
“She’s not a tart, Esther. She’s been married for a few years now.”
“But is it her husband’s baby?” Esther eyed Liz with a raised wispy eyebrow, and I choked as I took a bite of a cookie she must have baked just for me. Esther knew how much I loved oatmeal raisin.
“I’m not asking for a paternity test,” Liz groaned. “But anyway, I know you’re right. I just like my job. I don’t want to piss Dr. Martin off.”
“You won’t,” Esther insisted before turning to me, deciding that Liz’s work discussion was no longer of interest to her. “And you. What’s going on with that guy?”
Liz turned to me with her mouth hung open, suddenly remembering she had forgotten to bring Brandon up with me again. “Oh, that’s right. Have you seen him? What was his name?”
My eyes rolled. “His name is Brandon, and yeah, I’ve seen him. I saw him the other day, and I was declared a friend, which is what I wanted, so … The end.”
“So, what’s your next move?” Liz asked, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.
“I don’t have one?” I questioned, unaware that my love life was meant to be treated like a game of chess.
The truth was, I didn’t exactly know where to go from there. I wasn’t exactly able to get out of the house and meet men who weren’t already married with children, and I had no interest in that scruffy barista Scott. Brandon had declared we were to be friends, and not the kind with benefits, and I wasn’t too keen on the idea of cruising the bars on the weekend in hopes of getting lucky.
Check mate.
Esther shook her head with disappointment. “I would have at the very least made sure I got my hands in that guy’s pants. Men don’t turn down sex if you’re persistent, or at least in my experience, and he sounded like a good one to take for a ride.”
“Oh, my God,” I groaned, never looking away from Liz, as though ignoring Esther’s grotesque comments would get her to stop.
“You’re disgusting,” Liz shot at the woman, who only shrugged in response and made sure her dentures were securely in place before grabbing a cookie. “Anyway, have you thought about checking the internet? Debbie found her husband on there a few years ago, and that was a one-and-done deal. She met the first guy that messaged her, fell in love with him, and they were married within the year.”
“Sounds like settling,” I mumbled skeptically.
Liz rolled her eyes with a tired sigh. “It happens, Holly. Sometimes you just know when it’s right, and hey, at least they’re happy. That’s more than I can say for you.”
I had been hoping she wouldn’t mention the internet. I knew it was becoming more and more common, and I had known people at Teen Queen who had met their significant others on various websites, but there was something that just didn’t sit right for me. It seemed like a pathological liar’s playground, or a wonderful way for a serial killer to lure his victims into his dingy old van before trucking them away to some remote dungeon.
“I don’t know,” I groaned. “It’d be my luck to set myself up with a guy who uses a picture of Ryan Gosling but really looks like a hairy potato.”
Liz eyed me through her long eyelashes. “You know what Ryan Gosling looks like. You wouldn’t willingly go out with a guy who used his picture.”
“Who’s Ryan Gosling?” Esther chimed in, her ears pricking at the sound of a man’s name. She rubbed her hands together as though she were about to feast on a fine meal. “Is he handsome?”
“I think Esther’s the one who needs to get laid, not me,” I laughed before taking another bite of cookie. Liz laughed with a nod.
“You’re right about that,” Esther agreed with a disappointed shake of her head. “The sex isn’t nearly as good since Harry became a ghost.”
***
“I don’t know about this,” I groaned to myself, staring at the screen and suddenly feeling nauseated by the lovey-dovey mushiness staring back at me.
The website in front of me displayed a slideshow of happy couples. One smiling couple shared a milkshake while sitting side saddle back-to-back on a carousel horse. Another pair were clearly on a camping trip, roasting marshmallows; their hands overlapping on the same stick. It was cheesy, and while none of those particular activities enticed me to the point of jealousy, I had to admit I wished I had someone to at least hold hands with. Just maybe not on a sandy beach with a sundae.
Under a banner encouraging single men and women to sign up, there was a big glowing button reading “CLICK ME,” and I suddenly felt like Alice after making her grand entrance in Wonderland. But despite my reluctance, I clicked. I half expected for the page to load with a caterpillar smoking a pipe, asking “huh-ooo” I was, which would’ve been a lot more exciting than the questionnaire that popped up instead.
First name: Holly.
Last name (optional): I opted out.
Date of birth: 1/28/1985.
Have you ever been married? No. No thanks to my ex-boyfriend and his lover.
Do you have kids? Want them? No and yes.
Where do you live? Long Island, NY. No way in hell I was putting down the town I lived in for these nut jobs to come find me and leave hair clippings on my front stoop.
What is your ideal first date? I’m not into bars, clubs, carousels, or walks on the beach, but I really like a good book and a good cup of tea, so a bookstore and a café sounds like a plan to me. I figured that would really reel the guys in.
Tell us a bit about yourself: I’m a 31yo woman living on Long Island with my sister and her kid, because my ex-boyfriend decided I wasn’t man enough for him and left me for his boss. Oh, work? Nah, I don’t do that either, in the conventional sense. My ex-boss fired me because I’m apparently too much of a grandma to write romantic advice for teenagers, so I babysit my sister’s kid full-time in exchange for room and board. Fun work stories? Probably not gonna get ‘em from this gal. I had a good chuckle at my own expense, and knowing that wouldn’t do a whole lot for me, I hit the backspace key until the space was empty once again. Hi, I’m Holly. I’m 31 years old. I hope there’s someone out there who loves sitcoms, cats, books, and tea as much as I do. Could that be you?
After submitting the form, the site prompted me to upload a picture of myself (also optional), and to create a username and password (mandatory). I found an old college picture of me dressed as a witch for Halloween. Lame, but hey, it’s what I had on hand and it was better than me making some pathetic attempt at taking a decent selfie.
The final step was to create a username. I thought about it for a moment. It seemed so important, like this was the finishing touch that would seal my fate. Would I find a prince, or would I find a toad? Would I make myself enticing or would I find myself a place at the bottom of the barrel? There was so much pressure and I couldn’t decide, so I just picked my old AOL username: HollyCatLover28.
“You’re gonna be a hard one to sell,” I laughed to myself as I completed my profile, and waited, not bothering to hold my breath.