Little Miss Lovesick

by Kitty Bucholtz

  I went down the cookie aisle to get some Keebler Grasshoppers, and saw some kind of cinnamon shortbread cookie. I picked up one of each. A voice in my head suggested I keep in mind what a bad idea it is to shop while you’re hungry.

  Or depressed, whispered another Voice.

  I pretended not to hear either of them.

  When I got to the ice cream aisle, I looked first for the chocolate raspberry truffle. Yes! I bought two. (They don’t always have it.) Then I noticed Ben & Jerry’s was on sale and Godiva wasn’t. Decisions, decisions.

  Since they don’t always have my flavor, I didn’t put the Godiva back. But to not buy when something is on sale is a waste of money. I grabbed Peanut Butter Cup and New York Super Fudge Chunk.

  Knowing I probably wouldn’t feel like leaving my apartment today, I picked up a frozen pizza (the really good kind) and some mozzarella sticks. Then a package of frozen breaded mushrooms, in case I felt like that instead.

  By the time I got to the checkout, I was glad I’d gotten a cart. You know how it is. You come in for one thing…

  You’re going to make yourself sick.

  I shushed the voice.

  You’re just eating to keep from crying.

  I shut that one up, too. If I was trying not to cry, I would’ve bought some wine. That’s mymodis operandi. But I didn’t. So there.

  I tried not to think as I drove home and unloaded my groceries.

  There’s nothing wrong with what I bought, I told myself. The four ice creams are small. It’s not like I was going to sit in front of the TV with a five-gallon container and a spoon.

  When I was done putting things away, I found the book I was reading and curled up on the couch. I looked at the clock and began to read.

  Exactly ten minutes (and four sneak peeks at the VCR clock) later, I got up and nonchalantly pulled the Peanut Butter Cup ice cream out of the freezer.

  See, I waited. I didn’t run to the store, then come home and dive right in. And it’s not my favorite, so that means I’m not drowning my sorrows. I’m just eating ice cream like everyone does on a summer Saturday.

  In fact, I’m actually saving money by buying at the store instead of going out.

  See?

  I curled back up on the couch with my book, my ice cream and a teaspoon. (Not a tablespoon.) My goal was to simply relax for the weekend. That’s been my goal for days. It’s not because of Matt.

  Mid-afternoon, I took a break from my book to eat some yogurt. Very healthy. No worries about men or anything else that would make me run to high-calorie foods. I’m perfectly fine.

  I finished the book about the time it was getting too dark to read without a light. The serial arsonist died in his own fire. Justice was served.

  I lay on the couch breathing in the twilight. I don’t know why, but this is one of my favorite times of the day. Maybe the half-light makes things look softer than they really are. I closed my eyes and snuggled deeper into the cushions. The ticking of the wall clock behind me began to sound intrusively loud. I didn’t realize how many cars drove down my street until I lay there and listened to them all passing by.

  How many were driven by a single someone, on their way to an empty home? Was Matt home? Was he alone? Was Dirk alone? Trent?

  When most single girls I knew had trouble finding even one intelligent, nice, single man to go out with, here I was juggling three. How ridiculous. Unreal. And it didn’t even matter because I didn’t want the ones who might want me, and the ones I might want,didn’t want me.

  You meant to say “one,”said a Voice,the “one” you might want.

  I sighed heavily. This was just sick and wrong.

  On a whim, I pinched myself. Nothing. I pinched myself harder. Okay, ow, that hurt. Still nothing. I should never have read those time travel romances. They put wishes in your head that you can never have.

  The fact is, I don’t want a line of men outside my door. I’d never apply to be the next Bachelorette and choose a sexy hunk to marry while the world watched. I just want one man to love me forever. And I want to find one man I could love forever. Just so we’re clear here, I want him to be thesame man. And then I want us to live in a real house that we could make into a home.

  I sighed again. God, what am I doing wrong? Which one of them am I supposed to be pursuing? Am I supposed to be pursuingany of them? Is there one soul mate for everyone? Or is that something we made up down here?

  I thought about it for a moment. Actually, there is no mention of that in the Bible. I know the whole “man and woman become one” part, and the threatening “let no one tear asunder what God has joined together” part. But I’ve never read, “Sydney Riley, I created Mr. X for you to marry on September 17 of your 32nd year.” That’s not in there. Not in the parts I’ve read, anyway.

  Big sigh. Well, it should be. God, if you know everything, why can’t you let me in on some of it? I crossed my arms and prepared to pout.

  That’s so mature, said a Voice.

  Better than crying.

  Maybe tomorrow Pastor Mark will say something helpful. He’ll be standing up front, about to begin the sermon. Then he’ll suddenly frown, look for me in the crowd, and say, “Sydney Riley, are you here this morning? God just told me who you’re going to marry. Come on down! You’re the next contestant on ‘God is Right!’”

  I half snorted a tiny little laugh.

  Or maybe after church, when we’re all standing around talking, he’ll come up to me and whisper in my ear. Maybe slide me a note. “Sydney, this is a message from God. He said to tell you, ‘Door Number 3.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

  I’ll light up with happiness and give him a hug and go find — well, whoever is Mr. Door Number 3.

  I suppose those silly thoughts before I fell asleep were the reason I dreamed weird dreams. The one I remember the clearest is the one where I’m walking down the aisle at a beautiful garden wedding, flowers and guests everywhere, wearing a fantastic wedding gown. At the end of the aisle are Dirk, Matt, and Trent. All three of them!

  Dirk was holding a sign with the words, “Will you forgive me?” written on it in big, black letters.

  Matt had a sign that said, “Am IThe One?”

  Trent’s sign read, “Do you like me? Check Yes or No.” It actually had little check boxes, too.

  I know, you’d think I was drinking before I went to bed. Aside from being embarrassed, there was one other thought that hounded me for the rest of the day Sunday.

  Where could I buy that gorgeous wedding dress?

  YOU probably guessed this already, but I don’t want to keep you hanging. Pastor Mark didnot give me a message from God Sunday. Not even a hint.

  There was one moment that made me squirm and run home as fast as I could. David, my friend who I sat next to when we all went to have pizza two Sundays ago, came up to me and asked if I had lunch plans. I’m sure it was harmless, but that stupid dream was way too fresh in my mind. I made some excuse and left. Fast.

  After moping around my apartment all day Sunday, I got ready for work Monday morning determined to have a good day, a good week.

  A good life? Well, now that’s pushing the limits of my Pollyanna attitude. After all, today was Monday and I had to spend most of the day with GT, starting at his office. Which is where Matt would likely be today.

  No matter. I don’t care. I dressed for success, but not to impress. Matt has more issues than I’m interested in dealing with. (We won’t be discussing my issues today.)

  I pulled on a pair of khaki Capri pants (the closest you can get to shorts and still be professional) and a white button-down cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I looped a blue scarf under the collar and stepped into a comfortable pair of sandals.

  One last look in the mirror — perfect. It was a “let’s get down to business” outfit that also said, “I love summer.”

  Just my style.

  I look stupid.

  Shut up!

  This insecurity thing is dr
iving me crazy! Why isn’t there a pill or something for it?

  I hurried to the car and turned up the radio. Loud, so I couldn’t hear myself think. Driving to GT’s house soothed my nerves. About half the drive is along the bay on Peninsula Drive. The water calms me. I can never decide if I want my house to be on the water or in the woods. They both nurture that peaceful vibe in me.

  When I getany house, I’ll feel a lot more peaceful.

  And a husband, reminded Little Miss Lovesick.That will definitely make me feel more peaceful.

  I snorted. I was seriously beginning to have doubts about that.

  GT’s driveway was coming up on the right. For one awful glorious moment, I considered just driving past it. Like in the movies. Just drive past it and keep on driving.

  Sighing, I flipped on my turn signal and pulled in.

  I’ll tell you one thing, come hell or high water, I willnot look around for Matt. In fact, my plan is to not look anyone in the eye. Just get to GT’s office and get to work.

  The back door into the kitchen was open as usual, so I walked in and made a beeline for the office. Matt stood in his usual place at the butcher block, surrounded by paper.

  I hurried around the other side of the counter and glanced at my watch as if I didn’t see him. I saw him look up out of the corner of my eye, but I pretended I didn’t.

  Making it into the hallway that led to GT’s office, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. That was easier than I had hoped.

  Just ignore the overwhelming feeling of guilt, said a Voice.

  Yeah, like I have anything to feel guilty about!

  How about amazingly bad manners, said a Voice that sounded too much like Mom.

  I knocked on GT’s office door. It was half-open and I could see he was on the phone. Poking my head in a bit, I saw him motion me in.

  As I sat down, GT handed me a piece of paper. “Requirements for Yolanda’s Cottage” was the title.

  As I read through it, I got a little rush of energy — relief combined with excitement over my work again.This was doable.

  GT finished his phone call and hung up. Turning to me, he said, “Better?”

  I flashed him my Sydney-can-do-this grin.Now I had my confidence back.

  “Perfect.” All I had to do was search the MLS database and we’d have some real possibilities to look at.

  “Fantastic. Set up your laptop in the kitchen or the living room and let me know when you have something for me to look at. Matt can show you where the Internet hookups are in each room.”

  Work here? In the kitchen? Ha! But GT had already turned back to his work and picked up the phone.

  Of course I could work here. Sure. No problem. I’m a professional. I don’t bring my personal problems to work. I picked up my bag, smiled at GT, and left the office. But I was working in theliving room, not the kitchen. I’m sure Matt had no reason to go anywhere near the living room.

  I found a comfy spot on the couch with the coffee table in front of me to lay out my paperwork and my portable printer. I just needed an outlet to plug in the printer. I looked behind the couch and found an outlet, but it was full.

  A Frederic Remington sculpture caught my eye on an end table. I love Remington. Then I saw a cord coming out of the base. Where there was a cord, there was probably an electrical outlet. But why would a sculpture need electricity? I tentatively picked it up. The cowboy came off the horse and I heard a buzzing. I put the cowboy closer to my ear. Dial tone. I took a closer look. Apparently, you talked into his boots, his hat by your ear.

  So that’s what you buy for someone who has everything, said a Voice.

  Yuck, said another.Ruined a perfectly good piece of art.

  I followed the cord back behind another piece of furniture to the wall. The top of the outlet was empty. Yay. I pulled the printer cord over and tried to plug it in. Almost, just a little more give. I gave a little tug and heard a sliding sound. I looked up in time to see my laptop slide toward the floor. I dove for it and just caught it. I also caught my shins on the corner of the coffee table.

  “Ah, sshhh-shooty!”

  I shoved the computer back onto the coffee table, one hand grasping my left knee. But the printer cord caught around the laptop again, tightening so that I almost tripped. Frustrated, I yanked the cord out of the back of the printer and tossed the laptop safely onto the couch. I was bent over, fanny-side toward the kitchen, rubbing my smarting knees when I heard—

  “What in the world are you doing?”

  Spinning around, still holding one knee, I locked eyeballs with Matt.

  Ah, sshhh-shit.

  “Working,” I said as I turned my back to him again. I heard him grunt and move, so I ignored him and went back to righting my toppled papers. I was seriously grumpy now.This is why I work in my office, or at home. I don’t go to Internet cafes. I don’t try to plug in at Starbucks. I know what works. And what doesn’t.

  I reached for the end of the printer cord lying nearby just as it skittered away.

  “Hey!” Startled, I twisted around to find Matt wrapping the cord in a loop around his elbow. “What are you doing? I’m trying to get some work done here.”

  “So was I, until all the racket.”

  I sighed (huffed, really) and glared at him.

  “Give me my cord, please.” I thrust out my right hand to grab the cord, but he pulled away.

  “That,” he said pointing, “is where the phone is plugged in. Over there—”

  “I wasn’t trying to connect to the phone line.”

  “Over there,” he said again (with a tad bit of emphasis this time), “is the Internet connection.”

  I snorted. “As if GT doesn’t have wireless. If you’d just go away, I could get—”

  “The wireless installation is part of the renovations,” he interrupted. “You’ll have to connect the old-fashioned way today.”

  Matt marched over to another wall next to the wet bar and pulled a blue Ethernet cable from behind a chair. He bent over and plugged my printer cord in the wall. Then he dropped the ends of both cables on the floor near the couch and marched past me back toward the kitchen.

  “As if you know anything about how to make a connection,” I muttered.

  The fact that the cables would reach with room to spare wasn’t half as encouraging as the thought that I might now be rid of Matt for the day. My blood pressure seemed to spike when he was around, even if we weren’t getting along. I picked up the Ethernet cable and muttered dramatically, “Andstay out.”

  Apparently not as quietly as I meant to.

  “Excuse me?”

  From the heat on my neck, I was pretty sure Matt was staring holes into my back. In the hopes that ignoring him would make him go away, I continued to plug in my equipment and turn it all on.

  “Do you have a problem?”

  Not turning to him, I said, “Yeah, a few.”

  Hey, good one, said a Voice.

  “Well, one of them is rudeness.”

  Still keeping my eyes on my computer screen as I opened my web browser, I said, “Takes one to know one.”

  “Excuse me?” He sounded downright pissed off now, and that surprisingly raised my spirits.

  I waved him away. “Yes, you’re excused. Go!”

  The silence was threatening, like the air right before a storm. Electrifying. Thrilling.

  “I came in here to help you, not—”

  “You did not!” My eyes shot to his. “You came in here to find out what I was doing! You don’t—”

  “—to be treated like some kind of—”

  “—have to pretend you’re some kind of—”

  “Enough!”

  Startled, Matt and I shut up and turned toward the hallway in horror. Well, I turned in horror. I’d just realized that I had been shouting like a third grader. In my client’s home. Near his office. Where he wasworking.

  “What in unholy hell are you two screaming about?” GT roared. “Is this how you conduct business? Be
cause I don’t!”

  I thought I was going to die. This was beyond embarrassing. Beyond humiliating.

  God, please, if you’re merciful, take me now!

  GT looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel. Matt was staring at his boots, hands on his hips. I was afraid my mouth was hanging open. Then I realized my hands were covering it.

  “Out! Both of you. Now! I’ve got a business to run — and not a babysitting business. Out!”

  GT turned his glare straight to me. “We’re done! You understand?”

  Then he turned and stalked back into his office, slamming his door.

  Oh, no…have I just beenfired?

  CHAPTER 29

  I DROVE back to my office vacillating between feelings of dread and relief. The thing is, as much as GT drives me crazy, 1) I was excited to have found a method of working with him that seemed to work, and 2) I was beyond embarrassed to be fired in such a manner.

  What was I going to tell Perry?

  Just tell him that you can’t help GT anymore. He’ll probably be glad and not ask any questions.

  And if he does?

  Okay, tell him the truth. You’ll be disqualified for Employee of the Month for the rest of your life. But hey, who needs their name on a plaque anyway?

  I groaned and closed my eyes.

  Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road, please!

  Crap, what was I going to do?

  The silence in my head was not a good indicator that fresh, innovative ideas were forthcoming. Until this thought popped into my head.

  Don’t tell him anything.

  Huh, don’t tell him anything. That has promise. That has a sparkly glow around it. Yeah, I think I’m feeling better already. Don’t tell him the client fired me. Don’t tell him there was a big scene. If he asks about GT at all, I’ll just look all professionally disappointed and tell him I just don’t think I can help GT.

  Better if you don’t open your mouth at all, said a Voice.Don’t tell himanything.

  I ran some other errands between leaving GT’s and getting to the office so I wouldn’t appear early. On a whim, I stopped by Grand Traverse Pie Company on West Front Street and ordered a chocolate croissant and cranberry juice. When was the last time I sat down to eat breakfast on a weekday?