“I mean, everyone around us is getting married, having kids, or dogs, or something amazing like that. We’re still acting like we’re in our twenties,” I pointed out.
“Hey, speak for yourself—I do have a fish,” Max laughed.
“Have you fed it lately?” I glanced over at him.
“Uh, well…” Max frowned. “I better check on that fish.”
“That’s my point,” I said. “Did we miss out on something? Why aren’t we gravitating towards more commitment in our lives?”
“I don’t know.” Max shrugged. “I guess I’m just not ready to settle down yet.”
“What is that?” I asked as we reached my apartment building. “What is settling down?”
“Huh—a house, a wife, a parrot.” Max shrugged again.
I had to laugh at his words. But I could tell the conversation was making him uncomfortable. As much as he wanted to make it seem as if I was the one doing all of the pretending, I knew that Max was hiding a lot as well.
“I guess this is good night,” I said as we reached my door.
“Unless you want me to come in?” He looked over at me as I rummaged in my purse for my keys. “We could have a glass of wine.”
“No,” I groaned. “No more wine, maybe not ever.” I sighed as I unlocked the door.
“So that’s a no to coming inside too?” he said.
I glanced over at him, a little surprised. He wasn’t usually so keen to hang out this late at night.
“Don’t you have someone better you could spend the evening with?” I asked as I met his eyes.
“Better?” He shook his head slightly. “No. Someone different, sure. But no one better.” He smiled. “You know that.”
“Sure, Max. Go home,” I said and shook my head.
I opened the door to my apartment and stepped inside. I started to turn back to invite him in, but when I did, he was already gone. I frowned and closed the door. It was for the best, I knew. Being alone with Max when I was a little tipsy was probably not a good idea, considering the fantasies I frequently had about him. A little buzz could blur the lines of reality and fantasy.
However, maybe the wine I’d had had relaxed me enough to finally write my blog post.
I sat down at my computer. This time, I ignored the candles, the music, and the lighting. I just opened the darn computer, positioning my fingers over the keys. I took a deep breath as I stared at the blinking cursor on the screen.
This time, I didn’t try to think of what people would want to read. Instead, I thought about how I’d just spent my evening, trying to make myself interesting. I had to wonder how many other women felt that way—like they had some image that they were trying to live up to—that they had to work so hard to be anything other than who they truly were.
I began typing and as the words flowed out of me, I felt transformed.
I was being honest. I was making spelling errors. I was sure that my grammar would enrage someone. But it was me—all me—one hundred percent me. Not what I thought people wanted to hear, not what my mother wanted me to be, not even what Max wanted me to be. It was all of my insecurities and all of my dreams.
Chapter 10
In my blog post, I talked about the fact that people didn’t even see each other any more because we were all too busy focusing on our own flaws. The paintings had oddly taught me that.
By the time I was finished writing, I felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I had released pure emotion, untainted by the perceptions or expectations of others, and it felt great.
As I read it over, I was surprised that the words had come so easily from me. I’d written about the details of my bucket list—why I’d started it—and I invited others to join me on the journey, creating their own bucket lists to conquer.
I still felt pretty uncertain about it. Sure, the words meant a lot to me, but would anyone else even care? I hoped that maybe someone would stumble across the blog and find something of meaning in it.
I hovered the mouse over the post button. I knew, once I submitted it, that would be it. My words would be floating around in cyberspace. I hit the button and sat back. I don’t know if I was waiting for my computer to explode, or the Internet to celebrate in some way, but the actual process was a little anticlimactic. I sighed and closed the computer. I carried it over to the computer table to put it away for the night.
I thought about what tomorrow might bring as I headed for my bedroom. Would I be able to keep up with my blog? Would I be able to live without worrying about the expectations of others? For most people, I knew that wouldn’t be too difficult. With Max, it was going to be rough.
As I sprawled out on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, I thought about the choices I’d been making lately. I remembered cleansing my room of all things immature. I did that because I wanted to look like someone else.
I got up out of bed and headed to the closet. I snatched my teddy bear out of the box. I set it back on the shelf where it belonged. It had gotten me through many sleepless nights, and it too was a part of who I was.
As I drifted off to sleep I felt a sense of pride at being able to check one more item off on my bucket list. Not only that, but I actually felt as if I might have stumbled upon a new talent—writing. Just when I thought there was nothing about myself that could surprise me, I discovered that I liked to write. I looked forward to discovering what else I might learn about myself during this journey.
I woke up the next morning with a screaming headache. I groaned and tried to lift my head. It was not a pleasant experience. If it weren’t for the blog I’d posted the night before, I probably would have stayed in bed. But I really wanted to see if I had gotten any responses.
I forced myself up out of the bed and to the medicine cabinet. I rummaged around until I found some aspirin. I tossed a few back with some water from the sink. I knew they wouldn’t kick in for some time. I splashed some water on my face. I stumbled out of the bathroom and into the living room. I grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and then turned around and walked to the computer table.
My computer seemed to be taunting me. I sat down and cracked open the bottle of water. I took a sip and then opened the lid of the computer. I logged in and navigated to the blog site. I was surprised to find that I already had one comment. I expected it to be from Kat and prepared myself for some fierce criticism. I clicked on the message and began to read it.
What amazing insight you offer. You are a very wise person. If I could see the world through your eyes, I’m sure that it would seem like a more beautiful place. Thanks for sharing your words. I look forward to reading many more.
I sat back and smiled. It was a lovely comment. I had no idea who had written it. The screen name was Blue. Nothing more, nothing less. Just Blue. I thought that was interesting. It was a little odd to think that some stranger out there in Internet land had found a connection with me without having any idea of who I was. It was also thrilling. But more than that, I felt as if I had actually inspired someone. That was what I really wanted my blog to do.
I was still in my creative glow when my phone began to ring. I picked it up, expecting it to be Max, or even Kat, not realizing my mistake until I heard my mother’s nasal voice.
“Samantha Anne,” she said with clear annoyance. “I have been calling you for over a week.”
“What? I didn’t get any messages,” I said.
This was not true. I had been avoiding her calls. Once a month my mother liked to take me out to dinner. Once a month she pointed out how she was still waiting for a son-in-law and grandkids.
“Sure, Samantha.” she sighed. “Listen, I can’t make our dinner this month. I’ve gotten a little too busy. I’ve been seeing this amazing man and—”
“What?” I asked, surprised.
My parents had split up just after I turned eighteen. My father had moved on with another wife a few years later, but my mother had never even dated.
“I know it’s
a surprise, isn’t it?” She laughed. “But he’s just so charming.”
“I’m glad, Mom,” I said quietly. I was a little envious.
“Listen, Sam, your time is going to come,” she assured me. “You’re like a fine wine, better with age.”
I cringed at the mention of wine and age. “Mom, I really don’t want to have this conversation right now.”
“Listen, why don’t you just try getting out there and meeting some new people?”
“I tried that, Mom,” I said, feeling annoyed.
“Well, when all else fails, remember, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” she said, and I knew she was not-so-discreetly making a dig at my lack of cooking abilities.
“I have to go, hon, love you.”
“Love you too, Mom,” I said before hanging up the phone. I smiled because I knew what was next on my bucket list. I just wished that my mother hadn’t guessed it.
Single Wide Female: The Bucket List
3 Learn to Cook
By
Lillianna Blake
Copyright © 2015 Lillianna Blake
Cover design by Beetiful Book Covers
All rights reserved.
LilliannaBlake.com
Chapter 1
Bathed in the glow from my computer screen, I felt as if I had a connection to the entire world. Okay, maybe just to one reader, but it felt like the whole world. I hit submit on my latest blog entry. I didn’t know how many people would find the fact that I had finally decided to take my mother’s advice interesting, but I hoped that there might be a few.
I walked over to the kitchen. My kitchen. It was spotless—for just one reason. I only ever cooked with the microwave and the toaster. My oven was pristine. Now don’t get me wrong, with my new healthier lifestyle I ate a lot of fresh foods, but I just happened to eat them in restaurants or at different friends’ houses. When it came to actually turning on my stove or oven, I preferred to pick up my purse and walk out the door. Perhaps my aversion to cooking came from my mother’s insistence that a man only came running when delicious smells were coming from the kitchen.
Our house was always filled with food, and my father was a very happy man. But they didn’t exactly get along, despite all of my mother’s cooking. I always felt like she was telling me that the only way a man would love me was if I could cook him a meal. I wanted a man who would love me no matter what. Or better yet, a man who would cook for me! Still single at thirty-two, for me so far that plan hadn’t worked out so well.
Luckily, Chef Vincenzo offered a cooking class for all of us who were inept in the kitchen. Luckily, I stumbled across his website while doing some research for my blog; luckily, he had an opening. It seemed to me that the universe was trying to direct me straight into Italian cooking and my third bucket list item. I was looking forward to learning how to create nutritious and delicious meals in my own kitchen.
When I heard a knock on the door, I was surprised and slightly suspicious. I didn’t have many visitors, other than Max, who always let himself in with his key.
“Who is it?” I called out and slowly approached the door. I had a baseball bat stowed just for these occasions.
“It’s me, Max,” he called back from the other side.
My heart skipped a beat as I heard those words. Yes, I had crossed “be with Max” off my bucket list, but my heart didn’t seem to understand that. I opened the door to let him in.
“Did you lose your key?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t,” he said with a shrug. “But I figured that it might be better if I knocked first.”
“You don’t have to knock.” I laughed. “What’s the worst thing that could happen—you see me naked?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a possibility?”
“Not likely,” I said with a laugh and shook my head. “Anyway, you caught me at a bad time. I’m just heading out.”
“Another adventure?” he asked as he watched me gather my things.
“Maybe…”
Max had been trying to figure out just what I was up to for quite some time. But I was determined to have at least one secret from the man who knew me better than anyone else in the world.
“Where are you off to?” he asked.
“I’m going to take a cooking class,” I said as I finished loading up my purse.
“Why?”
“Because I want to learn to cook more than just waffles and macaroni and cheese,” I said as I walked past him into the living room.
“Well, that sounds good.” He grinned and rubbed his stomach. “I’ll be happy to be your guinea pig.”
“Great.” I smiled. “I will keep that in mind when I burn my first official meal.”
“Okay, maybe you could practice a little first.” He laughed.
“Not so brave now, are you?” I winked at him. “I have to get going soon, but first you have to tell me how your date with Angela went,” I said as I started toward the door.
Chapter 2
Max flopped down on my couch as if he had no intention of leaving. “Angela,” he said and shook his head with dismay.
“That bad?” I asked as I turned to look at him. I did my best to hide my amusement, but he was being overly dramatic on purpose to keep my attention.
“It was not bad exactly, just horrendous.” He sighed.
“Horrendous?” I said, thinking that Max could really be very dramatic. “I hardly think that’s possible on one date.”
“Look, I took your advice. I took her out to a nice meal and then we spent time walking together by the water—so that we could talk.” He groaned.
“You mean you attempted to create real intimacy?” I asked, teasing him.
Max was more of a finish-line kind of guy when it came to dating. Everything was about how fast he could get a woman back to his place. I had mentioned once or twice that that might be part of the reason he never seemed to have a second date.
“I tried,” he said as he looked up at me with the gorgeous eyes that always managed to catch me by surprise. “I even thought of a clever way to learn how her mind works. I asked her to tell me three reasons why she woke up in the morning.”
“Okay, Dr. Phil.” I laughed a little and shook my head.
“What?” he asked. “I thought it was clever. I wanted to know what was important to her.”
“Okay, fair enough,” I agreed, adjusting my purse on my shoulder. “So what did she say?”
“It was horrendous,” he reminded me. “I tried to be open-minded—really I did. But she couldn’t even think of one reason why she’d be excited to wake up in the morning—couldn’t even bother to make up a reason.” He shook his head.
“So?” I said. “Maybe you put her on the spot and she was too nervous to come up with anything.”
“The only thing that she said was that she got out of bed because the alarm rings. And she was totally serious when she said it. Does that sound like a happy life to you?” He frowned. “I mean if the only reason you wake up in the morning is because of an annoying little beeping sound, doesn’t that mean you have absolutely nothing to look forward to?”
“I don’t think it matters what I think,” I said. “But she might have been shy. Or maybe she’s just at a low point in her life. Women aren’t born perky, you know.” I shrugged.
“Oh, she was plenty perky.” He laughed.
“Oh, Max.” I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I mean. What matters is who she is, not how she answers some silly question that she probably didn’t even fully understand. Did you have a good time with her?”
“I guess,” he said, sounding less than thrilled. “Dinner was fine. She actually ordered a real meal and she even offered to go Dutch.”
“Max, you didn’t, did you?” I asked, fearing the worst.
“No, of course not.” He pursed his lips and then grinned at me. “You know I’m always a gentleman.”
I wanted to remind him of his perky comment, but I decided to bit
e my tongue instead.
“You know, Max, you have a tendency to find something wrong with every woman that you date,” I said, trying my hardest not to sound too judgmental. “Maybe you could lower your standards a little.”
“You know, Sammy, you tend not to date at all,” he said with a grin. “Maybe you could accept a date or two.”
“Ha ha.” I restrained myself from kicking him.
He was right, though; I hadn’t been on a real date in some time. “When the right man comes along, I’ll know it.”
“Don’t ask him why he gets up in the morning.” He laughed.
“Why do you get up in the morning, Max?” I asked as I grabbed my light jacket.
He stared at me for a long moment, then smiled. “To live my life, one adventure after another,” he said, sounding confident.
“Okay, good answer, but you’ve had plenty of time to think about it.” I shook my head. “I think you should call her back. Ask her out again.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “That ship has sailed, Sammy.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m out of here,” I said.
“Alright, fine.” He groaned and stood up from the couch.
As he sauntered past me, I felt the warmth of his body close to mine. I felt the urge to wrap my arms around him, to boldly pull him into the kiss that I had been longing for, for so many years. For just a split second I thought I actually would. Then he winked at me, in that dismissive way that made me feel as if I was twelve.
“Have fun at your cooking class, Sam,” he said when we were out on the street, lightly tugging on my hair. “Just remember that I don’t like mushrooms.”
“I’ll remember,” I said under my breath as he walked away.
I watched as he walked down the sidewalk. I wanted to convince myself that I didn’t feel anything when I looked at Max. But the blare of a horn as I nearly stepped directly into traffic told me differently.
“Sorry,” I called out as the driver flipped me off.
“Sam, don’t play in traffic!” Max yelled over his shoulder. I glared at him. We waved goodbye and I hailed a taxi.
On the ride to the class, I thought about the fact that I hadn’t dated much. To be honest, more often than not, if I was asked, I turned them down. Max was right. I had settled into a slump. I was hoping that the cooking class would help me get out of it.
Single Wide Female: The Bucket List Mega Bundle - 24 Books (Books #1-24) Page 7