“Is it too much to ask my fairy Godmother to hurry and change a pumpkin into a carriage to transport me to the ball to meet my prince already?” I whined, but it came out forcefully like it was wrestling with a groan.
“Well, I hate to inform you.” Nick rubbed his chin, cueing his transition to an armchair therapist, “nor do I want to bethatguy who points this out, but you used your pumpkin in a latte for the hayride. I don’t think you can ride in your pumpkin and drink it, too.” His phone dinged, drawing his attention. “Uh, I’m sorry, Char. This is work.” He placed the phone next to his ear, tacking on, “This will just be a second.”
Grinning, I dropped my eyes back to my drink, rotating the glass slowly with my thumb and forefinger, wistfully dreaming of my prince.What in the world was taking him so long?I was at the stage in life, where I would be okay with backup prince number one—or even number two—if he had his act together.
I wasn’t even sure if I believed in soulmates. At this point, I would be perfectly fine making a home with my soul neighbor—just as long as he didn’t hog the covers at night, or listen to talk radio in the car. Well . . . technically, I could always bring earbuds. Maybe I could make an exception for the talk radio if he didn’t complain about my bare feet being on the dash while I rode shotgun.They always get too sweaty with shoes on!They much preferred riding in the daylight.
Yeah, talk radio for a barefoot swap. That seemed like a logical compromise. Oh! And he’d have to listen to “Blue Christmas” by Elvis, on repeat, from Thanksgiving to Christmas, while also singing harmony, but he could totally have the other forty-eight weeks after that for his talk radio. Except for the obvious Elvis week where “Can’t Help Falling in Love” would have to blast on all six speakers with the window rolled down to hear it outside of the car so we could dance under the stars—but that would be a given. If I had to explain dancing under the stars to any man, he definitely wasn’t soul neighbor material.
Actually, since I’d been waiting so long, scratch everything except the dancing under the stars.
Dancing under the stars was a very reasonable condition that should be a cinch to finagle. Then, off to happily-ever-after land, and I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life alone.
Nick set his phone screen down, leaning back into our conversation. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”
“I don’t know,” I started, ready to give up on love entirely so I could be finished dating. “Find me a dude who needs a maid but promises to take care of me forever—or something close—and I’d be happy to fill that role. I want to be done with dating.” I pushed out my bottom lip and plopped my chin to rest in my palm. “It’s such a waste of time.”
Nick stretched one arm up and dropped it to scratch the back of his head. “I feel like I can put in another year, or two, tops, just to see if there are any stragglers who like to cuddle, but I’m going to end up where you are here shortly if all I get are duck lips.”
“Another year and you’ll be thirty,” I commented, letting my eyes smack him with that reality.
“It’sadomania.” Nick’s words came out soft, barely above a whisper, while he stared wide-eyed at me.
“Is that another word for a birthday?” I hiked a brow, letting a smile take over my face as I marveled at his rare talent for knowing the most unknown words that perfectly summed up every conversation. I called him the word whisperer. He hated that nickname, but that didn’t stop him from going out of his way to find the most obscure words.
“Nah, not birthday.” He blinked a couple of times as if he was trying to refocus on our conversation and then planted his gaze back on me. “It means your future is coming too quickly.”
I let the definition ring over, and I had to admit he’d done it again. He’d summed up this entire conversation with one word. “It’s perfect, ‘adomania.’” My voice floated, as if it was still holding awe. He nodded gently, and I nodded back, our smiles synchronizing before I added, “Can you imagine how hard dating is going to be in our thirties?”
“I can imagine it will be pathetic—”
“So pathetic,” I finished his thought like always. “Here we are, two amazing people,”—I straighten my spine, feeling an ego boost coming— “and nobody wants to spouse us up.”
“Everyone must be blind.” His words were laced with a low sputtering chuckle.
“Obviously.” My eyes made a giant arc around the top of my lid as I strove for the most perfect eye roll ever. “I mean, look at you,” I gestured to him with both hands. “You’re like what? The most genius CPA on the planet?”
He shrugged only one shoulder, as if he were more-or-less accepting that as a compliment. “More like an office manager.”
“Just call yourself a human calculator with all those skills.” My words were starting to slur now. I didn’t care because I had a point to prove, even if I was overtired, beyond the point of exhaustion and so emotional. I licked my lips, trying to remember what that point was . . . I wasn’t sure, so I took another sip of my drink and stared at him until he came into focus. Then I remembered! “Oh, yeah, so what do you make a year, six figures?”
“Low six.”
“Right!” I pointed at him accusingly because it would make him laugh. “You’re rich!”
He snickered, but I continued as I still had a point to prove. I clumsily gestured at him again. “And you’re buff! I’ve seen you with your shirt off, and you have two shadows of abs in there. Sometimes.” My own laughter cut off my words as I giggled intensely and fondly looked back at my best friend. He was laughing, too. Not looking even slightly offended because he knew it was true.
Wrapping my fingers around the stem of my mocktail glass again, I lifted it to my lips and finished the rest, before setting it down, and seeing my glass was now empty. It was a little blurry from the tears, which had been sitting in the back of my eyes all night. I could mostly see it, and it was most definitely empty.
I was tired of being a glass-is-empty person. It was painful. Part of what one gets out of life is what they put into it. At some point, I would have to accept the plight I was given. It was then I made my decision. Letting out a sigh steeped in desperation, I put a voice to my decision, “If I’m not married—or at least engaged by Christmas—I’m forever giving up on dating—for eternity.”
Nick quirked a skeptical brow. “This Christmas? That’s eleven months.”
“''Tis the season to get married."
"I know you want a Christmas wedding by why this year? It's so soon."
"I'm wasting time, caring about dating. I could use all energy for a new hobby.” I pursed duck lips to remind him of his own fate, then tacked on, “Want to join me? We could make a pact.”
