CHAPTER EIGHT
I ’m pushing my hair back with a headband to wash my face when my phone pings from the bathroom counter beside me. Seeing a little heart on my screen, I reach for it, a new message from James. I sigh and feel my shoulders stiffen. I haven’t taken the time to delete him yet. When I got home last night, I fell right into bed. Now’s as good a time as any. I close the lid on the toilet and sit, but I’m not prepared for what is about to imprint on my mind forever, FOREVER!
I’m at a loss for words. I can’t seem to look away. I’m blinded by a screen filled with flesh-colored, taut skin.
Yup, there it is.
It’s happened.
One very up-close, dicpic.
Not believing this has actually happened, I rub my forehead, feeling the lines between my eyebrows appear. Right above the very graphic Rated R photo is the caption, “Your loss.” I will myself to close my mouth as the shock starts to subside, and I am just coming back to my senses when my phone rings in my hand. It’s Lucy.
I swipe the screen to answer, or actually, I swipe the X-rated picture, pushing it off my display screen and back into the dating App. I answer the call, still feeling baffled, and my eyes a little violated.
“You’ll never guess what James just sent me!” I exclaim before Lucy has a chance to say anything.
“Awe, you’ve got your first dicpic!” Lucy laughs a loud cackle. I let last night’s events slide off me as I join in on the laughter with my best friend.
* * *
It’s odd for me to have two days off in a row, but I’m working all weekend, so I decide to use today to write my first article for Lace & Dots magazine.
I’ve spent the better half of the morning replaying last night’s date in my mind. Lucy assured me that this probably won’t be my only bad date. I don’t see how things could possibly get any worse. I’m hopeful, but last night’s event opened my eyes and has given me quite a few ideas for how to go about my article.
My phone sounds from across the room.
I spend a minute contemplating getting up from the cozy position I’ve settled into on my couch. Bob is by my side, but ultimately, I can’t seem to leave an unread text unanswered.
I think I have boundary issues.
When I get to my phone, I turn it over and see one unread message from Ben. We don’t text all that much, Ben and I. We’re like really close work friends. We love hanging out together at work but just don’t seem to get together after hours more than once every few months, randomly.
Ben: Mornin’. How’d the date go?
I make my way back to the couch and plop down.
Me: I won’t be going back out with James again.
It’s mid-morning. Work must be going a bit slow for him today as he replies immediately.
Ben: What happened?
Me: It’s no big deal.
I reply quickly, not wanting to let him know that maybe he was right about online dating. But things could turn around. James was only the first. My phone sounds again, notifying me of another incoming text.
Ben: Any other dates lined up?
Me: Not yet I’m writing my article today. You working tomorrow?
Ben: Yup.
Me: I’ll see you then. Have a good day! :)
Ben: Can’t wait.
I put my phone down and grab my laptop from the coffee table. I take one of my couch pillows and place it on my lap, with the laptop on top. Okay, so I’m not set up the best to be a writer. Hmm, maybe I should make more of an effort and create a writing space in here.
Yup, it’s settled. I’m hitting IKEA.
I turn off my laptop and put it back on the coffee table. I lean down to pat Bob on the head.
“ I’ll be back Bob. Mamma’s going shopping!”
Bob looks at me with a blank expression. I grab my coat and keys and head out.
I arrive thirty minutes later. I’m grinning so hard that my face kind of hurts.
There’s something about walking through here and seeing all the designs that gets me excited. I think it’s my love for home renovation shows. I like it when the designer does the final staging, decorating every last corner of the place right up until they karate chop the last couch cushion. I’ve really only decorated my bedroom. I once read that your bedroom should feel like an oasis, a place of serene vibes.
I stand in the short lineup of people going in for carts and wait patiently. I take a cart and follow the line of people heading in. Thank God for the carefully mapped-out walking path. I pass by a stand with tiny pencils and paper and take one of each.
My eyes light up as I pass the first of the bedrooms. There’s a large white wardrobe with glass doors. This would take up one full wall in my bedroom. They paired it with a hanging chandelier, a fuzzy white throw rug, and an ottoman. I think this was meant for a walk-in. A girl can dream.
I continue on, making mental notes along the way of decor goals until I reach the ‘office’ section. I veer off the main walking path and make my way to the desks, my hand gliding across the top of each one as I pass. I don’t know why I do this. These aren’t cashmere sweaters. I move my cart and stop in front of a smaller-sized desk. I don’t have a ton of room in my apartment, but I have a little nook in my living room, which I have been meaning to turn into a writing space. I even have the measurements saved on my phone.
I open my notepad and scroll down until I see the one titled space.
I look back at the desk, and I reach for the little tag with the dimensions. This one will be too big. I push my cart through the desks until I spot one that looks just right. The top is made of bamboo, and the legs are white. I reach for the tag, the dimensions are perfect.
This is it.
I pull out the tiny pencil from the pocket of my jeans and write down the aisle and bin number for later.
I make my way back onto the walking path and to the chairs.
I see a chair with a wicker back and white legs and fall in love with it immediately, making a note of the aisle and bin number. I sit back and look around at the shoppers. I push my foot off the floor and allow the chair to twirl in circles. When it stops, I feel my ears buzz, and dizziness sets in. When it settles, I notice a clerk watching me, so I stand and walk on as if I didn’t just spin around in a random desk chair like a five-year-old kid.
I continue on, picking up a small cushion for the back and a circular mirror that hangs by a rope.
I walk through the rest of the store, eyeing everything as I walk by. I find an abstract piece of art that will look good in my writing area and also match my living room.
Once I get the desk and chair from the warehouse section, I continue to the self-checkout.
About forty-five minutes later, I’m struggling to lift the box for my desk up my stairs while my purse slides off my shoulder and bounces off my knee.
I curse under my breath.
I plop down on the bottom step and drop my bag. This isn’t going to work.
I check the time and wonder if Ben’s at lunch.
Me: Hey, are you busy?
I ask, not sure if he will see the message right away. I’m contemplating putting the desk together in the parking lot, so it will be lighter to carry up - if need be. Why are the boxes always so heavy? My phone buzzes.
Ben: No, why, what’s up?
Me: Any chance you can come over and help me bring some furniture up the stairs to my apartment?
Ben: Sure, omw.
I stay seated on the bottom step until he arrives ten minutes later. I stand when he enters the building.
“Thanks so much for coming like this,” I say before he has a chance to greet me.
“Not a problem. Do a little shopping?” he asks, eyeing the box that has slid half off the step.
I turn to the desk. “Yeah, I bought a few things to make myself a writing space.”
“That’s great, Sof,” he continues. “If you build it, it will come.”
I roll my eyes. “Did you really just quote Field of Dreams ?” I ask, laughing, knowing that Ben and his uncle are both movie fanatics.
“Sure did, best movie,” he says, leaning down to pick up the box. He lifts it in one swoop. Huh, maybe I need to get to a gym.
I make my way up the stairs in front of him, unlocking the door.
“Out of the way, Bob,” I call. He meows in annoyance and hops up onto the couch, eyeing Ben with judgment.
I motion to Ben to the little nook, and he leans the box against the wall.
“Thanks again, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Got anything else that you need to be brought up?” he asks, making his way back to the door.
“No, I just have random things, and the chair I bought came in pieces. It’s fine.”
We walk out the door, and he follows me to my car. I open the trunk and start taking things out. Ben comes right up behind me and grabs the wicker bucket for the chair and the legs. I take the art and cushion.
“Thanks,” I say, closing the trunk.
We’re back upstairs, and I realize this is the first time Ben’s been inside my place. “Do you want something to drink?” I ask, seeing that he’s made friends with Bob.
He’s leaning down to give the purring cat belly rubs.
“Sure. I’ll have water.”
I get two bottles, one for each of us. He twists his arm to look at his watch.
“How’s the store today?” I ask.
“It’s pretty quiet for a Friday.”
“I’m sure it will be busy this weekend. People are starting to plant their spring flowers.”
“So, what happened on your date last night?”
Oh, we’re back to this.
I play with the sleeves of my shirt, suddenly feeling shy. “He just wasn’t exactly as perceived to be by text.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Ben says, his tone suddenly becoming protective, his body stiffening.
“No, nothing like that!”
He takes a sip from his bottle. “I better get back. Have fun putting together your furniture.” He looks towards the small space. “It’s going to look good with what you’ve picked out.”
I grin and walk to the door. “Thanks!”
He leans down and gives me a quick, one-sided hug. I feel jitters pass through my body, warming my insides. I move back, unsure how to take this physical connection with him that’s appeared out of nowhere.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
“Tomorrow,” he says, smiling at me before he turns and heads back down the stairs.
I close the door and turn on some music.
Music fills the room, and I start unpacking my desk, singing along in rhythm.