Chapter seven
Another sleepless, frustrating night,I think to myself as I watch TV, trying to find something to hopefully bore myself asleep.
Tomorrow’s my first day at the new hospital, Thistleberry General, and though I’m nervous about the new gig, that’s not the only thing
keeping me up. Ever since Joseph showed up, I’ve been a wreck. Thankfully, Sparrow and the gang have been busy with other things,
otherwise, they’d see the wads of tissues all over my dresser and my swollen eyes from crying. Or the takeout containers haphazardly
sprawling out of my wastebasket.
I had accepted it all. All the pain of losing the animals. All the pain from losing him. But when he showed up, so arrogant, thinking I’d
taken him back, it really messed me up. More than I thought it would, to be honest.
His words had been like him taking his fingers, sinking them into my flesh, and prying those scars apart. Every rip from his words
leaving me bloody and bruised all over again. The memory of finding him and that girl in our bed replaying in my mind, and all my
emotions about it resurfacing and surging like a raging typhoon, destroying me mentally all over again.
I can’t live my life like this forever,I think to myself as I get up to use the bathroom. I am starting fresh, and even though it’s not quite the way I thought life was going to go, it’s still my life. So why not make the best of it?
After using the restroom, I make it back to the bedroom, eyeing the phone lying there in its pink case on my nightstand. I grasp it in
my hand as I turn the screen on and ignore the nerves creeping up.
Sparrow is right.There’s no reason to sit here and dwell on what once was. All I have is right here, and right now. . . and I want to love in the moment before it passes me by.
I decide to go through the whole process of starting a profile, and once my login is set up, I’m surprised at how in depth it all is. I’m
asked the normal questions I assumed it would—name, birthday, where I’m from, what I do for a living—but then it asked some other questions.
What music do you like?
What movies do you like?
If you were on a desert island, what would you bring with you?
Then came the multiple-choice questions. Everything from political alignments to physical preferences—which, though a lot of them
didn’t apply for me, seemed like a nice touch—and a whole bunch of other stuff. In fact, by the end of it all, I was surprised at how
intuitive it all seemed to be. It was like it was asking everything under the sun to try to push you toward like-minded people.
While the rest of the questions were sort of fun, the final question gave me pause.
What are you looking for?
What am I looking for, exactly?I ask myself. I’m definitely not looking for a relationship. That’ll just get my heart broken all over again.
And how many people are really going to be on here that aren’t looking for a relationship or a one-night stand? Probably not many.
No!I scold myself. I’m not going to be pessimistic! I am going to put myself out there! So, under the question, I put friends and maybe
something more, leaving myself open to whatever happens to go with the flow. Seems like a good enough answer as any.
The app then pops up a prompt to add a picture, and immediately, I feel my anxiety kick in. I’ll have to take something tomorrow when
I’m all made up, I think to myself. And so, I click ‘do this later, and the app announces I’m all done with fancy little stars and fireworks,
telling me that I’m ‘ready to make friends!’
Huh, that was easier than I thought,I think to myself as I look at the time. Jeez, it’s already one in the morning? I’ll have to check this out
later. However, as I put my phone down, my phone begins to ping over and over again.
Worried that it was Sparrow or little Joe, I pick up my phone, only to see the notifications are from the app. “Eh, I’ll just read these in
the morning,” I say to myself, yawning as I turn down the TV and lay my head against the pillow.
A few minutes later, my phone is more alive than it ever has been, and I sit up and put my glasses back on. Curiosity getting the best
of me, I pick up my phone once again, and I’m shocked to see all the notifications are from all different people—male and female—
filling up my Love and Company inbox.
Sheesh, that was fast! I think to myself as I poke the app button and start scrolling through the messages. One is from a slightly
younger woman, Sheila, who had also been cheated on and wants to get to know me. It honestly sounded lovely; I really do need
friends. There’s another email from a guy named Butch, who is asking for my picture, and I tell him I’m tired and I’ll put one up
tomorrow. But he persists, so I put his chat on ‘ignore’. Too pushy.
I then open the next one, only to gasp, shocked and wanting to soak my eyes in bleach as I’m greeted with a picture of some man’s. . .
well. . . ding-a-ling. I surely didn’t want to see that.
“Friggin’ animals,” I say as I block the phallic phantom, nearly putting the phone down as my stomach lurches in disgust.
But then there’s a message that comes through from a man, his handle says ‘TheRanchman’, and it piques my interest. A rancher, huh?
I think to myself as I click on his profile first, wary of just opening his message.
There”s no picture, which is a bit disappointing, but I can’t really be too upset about that. I mean, I don’t have one up either.
He’s fifty-four, and he runs a ranch just outside of San Antonio, not far from me. As I read, the way he talks about his love for animals
and life on the ranch pulls me in, reminding me of the love I’d had for Laney and the rest of my animals. . . an obvious common
interest. He likes country music and some classic rock.
Check.
He loves gardening and cooking. Check and check.
The more I go through and read his questions, the more I realize how alike we really are. . . and the app agrees, surprising me with a
ninety-two percent compatibility rating.
Still a bit wary that I’ll be blasted in the eyes with another dirty photo, I cautiously open his message, only to find that there’s none to
be found.
Good evening. The message begins. Well, morning, I suppose. My apologies for the late message. I couldn’t sleep, and then it suggested you as a friend. So, I figured, why not?
Well, he sounds just as nervous as I am, I think to myself. But he sounds like a gentleman so far.
Hello! I reply back. It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep either.
Dang, what was that one thing Sparrow told me to use when I wanted to express laughing or something? Oh, right! An emoji!
So, I search through the little pictures under the smiling face and pick out one that’s laughing.
Good, I’m glad I didn’t offend, he replies, a smiley face punctuating the end of his sentence. So, I’m going to be honest, I don’t know how to go about this. I’m not too good with technology.
You and me both,I reply with another laughing face, and he sends one back.
My name’s Eli, but I suppose you saw that in my profile. I’m looking to make friends first, then see where it goes.
Me too!I reply, and for the next hour or so, Eli and I text back and forth, shooting the breeze—albeit a bit awkwardly. But it”s not weird
awkward, more like endearing. We talk about ranch life, animals, and what movies and music we like. Then we gab a bit about TV and
how we miss the old shows and find ourselves watching old stuff over and over.
Both of us have kids, though he’s got double the amount I do. But it doesn’t bother me at all. From the way he talks, he’s got nothing
but love for his boys.
Four of them!I typed. I don’t know that I could survive! Little Joe and Sparrow were enough! I say, and it makes him laugh.
At first, I worry that he’ll ask where their father is, but he doesn’t. And though my brain is nagging at me to ask where his ex is, out of
respect, I don’t.
If I don’t want my can of worms opened—an embarrassing one at that—it wouldn’t be right to insist on knowing his.
Before I know it, when I glance over to the clock, it’s nearly three a.m., and my eyes widen as I remember I need to get some sleep
since orientation is at noon later that day at the hospital.
I hate to cut this short, but I start work tomorrow, and I need to at least attempt to sleep, I say.
That’s alright, he replies. I have to get up to start chorin’ myself by eight at the latest, and I usually eat breakfast at six.
Oh no, I hope I didn’t keep you awake!I reply, feeling bad that I didn’t figure he’d have to get up much earlier than I did.
Don’t worry darlin’,he replies. If anything, the boys and Mitch will have to give me a little leeway.
Darlin’, huh?I think to myself with a crooked little smile. I like that. A lot actually.
Hey, before you go,Eli types. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out sometime. Coffee first, maybe? I’d like to get to know you better, and while the app is nice, I’m better face-to-face.
I pause for a moment, my fingers hovering over the little electronic keyboard in front of me. I want to say yes, he seems so awesome.
But admittedly, I’m scared. I’m still a wounded animal, trying to heal. Would it really be fair to drag someone else into that nonsense?
I should be more focused on work, right?
All these thoughts swirl in my head for a moment, but I shake them all off. There’s something about Eli that just feels. . . different. I
can’t explain it, and I don’t think I need to label it, at least not right now. But I feel like I need to give him a chance.
How does Wednesday morning sound?I ask. It’s my next day off.
That sounds perfect, he says with a smiley face next to it, and I feel my face get a little warm as I smile too. It’s been lovely talking to you, Darla, he says, and the warmth deepens.
It’s been lovely speaking with you too, Eli, I reply.
Eight o’clock at the state diner on Cliff Street?Eli asks. That way, if you decide you want a little breakfast or something, there’s the option.
That would be great! I say.
Alright, well, don’t be a stranger,Eli says with a winking face.
Don’t worry, I won’t,I reply as I let out a contented sigh and put down my phone, finally lying down for the night. A big grin sits on
my face as I stare at the TV, excited for the future.
As the adrenaline and excitement wear off, and I gently slip off to sleep, I find myself dreaming of the cowboy I’m going to meet.
Wondering if this will be the end of my streak of bad luck.
I truly hope so. Because he sounds like a dreamboat.
***
After a night full of dreams of riding through the field on horses with Mr. Eli, I make myself breakfast—eggs, bacon, cottage cheese,
and toast—and sit down at the table to eat. All the while, Eli remains in my thoughts.
I feel like a dumb teenager, being so excited about Wednesday. But he seems so funny, kind, and genuine. A true gentleman.
Something that maybe I need in my life. Someone to show me that, like Sparrow says, every man isn’t bad.
Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, it’d be nice to have another friend, at least. Though a big part of me is excited and hoping that it will
lead somewhere, which is funny since just a few days ago, I was so against even trying.
I take a shower, get dressed in my favorite pair of scrubs, and eye the clock. I still have plenty of time before work, so I decide to put
on my face, feeling really good about myself.
Towels piled on my head, I did my eye makeup and worked my way to my lips when I heard a knock at the door. Maybe it’s the
mailman, I think to myself. He knocked on Friday when we dropped off a package.
I go to the door, still in my robe, and when I open it, I’m immediately filled with rage as I’m face-to-face with my past once more.
“Apparently, I didn’t make myself clear enough the last time you showed up,” I say as Joe stands there with a fistful of roses in his
hand. “I brought you something,” Joseph says as my eyes flicker toward the flowers and then back to him.
“I don’t like roses. I like lilies,” I reply. “Not that you’d possibly remember.”
“Darla, come on now, don’t be difficult,” Joseph replies, his smile unwavering despite my obviously grumpy demeanor.
“You’re the one who is being difficult,” I growl. “Because apparently you don’t understand the meaning of ‘don’t come back here’.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Joseph says, and the very word ‘sweetheart’ coming out of his mouth makes me nauseous.
“Don’t you patronize me,” I reply. “I had nothing to say to you the other day, and I surely have got nothing to say to you now.”
“But I love you, Darla,” he whines, and I’m hit with the acrid and strong smell of booze.
“Ugh! Have you been drinking?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Joseph says. “What matters is I love you—”
“Don’t,” I say as I feel my chest tighten and my eyes begin to burn.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say that to me,” I reply. “Because if you did, if you ever had, you wouldn’t have done what you did. And if you respected me,
you wouldn’t be here at my doorstep all over again.”
“That’s not true!” he insists, and he takes a step forward. Heart pounding, I try to slam the door shut, but it won’t close. His boot is
wedged in between the door and the frame.
“Joe, move your foot! Now!’ I yell. “I don’t want you anywhere near me!”
“Come on now, you don’t mean that, Darla,” Joseph says. “I need a place to go, and what better place to go than back into the arms of my lover?”
“I do!” I scream back. “I don’t want anything to do with your cheesy, drunk, cheating, low down, dirty, and no good pathetic self!”
I insist, and his smile fades; I can see the rage begin to filter into his eyes. “You are not welcome here.”
“Who do you think you are?” Joseph spits. “You think you can just talk to me like that?”
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” I reply. “Now leave before I call the cops.”
“You wouldn’t,” Joseph replies, glaring at me.
“Try me,” I say, glaring right back, holding stern even though I am scared out of my wits, and I feel like my heart’s going to explode.
I’ve never seen him so angry. “You wouldn’t do well in jail, Joe,” I continue, steeling my nerves, wanting to drive it home in his brain to
leave me be.
“This isn’t over, Darla,” Joseph says as he slides his boot out from the door, and I quickly close it, deadbolting and locking it before I
run to the window in time to hear his engine rev and his tires squeal as he speeds off. I’m left wondering if his words were talk or if he
meant it.