Our Forever Crazy Love: Contemporary Romance

by Jennifer Nolan

  “I’m sorry, V.” Rach tries to comfort me, but I keep talking.

  “Now he’s halfway around the world and I’m not sure what to do next. I waited for ten years to have my time with Danny—ten years. I know I need to move forward, Rach. I’m not sure I know how.”

  “You know what you need? A distraction. You should make a list.” Rach knows me so well. “You should write out all the things you would want to have in your ideal man.”

  I think tall, dark, and handsome. Danny had those characteristics in spades. Rach continues as if she’s reading my mind. “You need to forget about Danny and envision someone else now.”

  Rach is right. Plus writing out a list is never a bad idea.

  I put her on speaker and place my phone down on the coffee table. “Hold on a second while I find a sheet of paper and something to write with.” I grab a pad of lined paper and a pen from my desk drawer. Back on the couch, I write the title My Ideal Man across the top of the page. I insert a column of numbers from one to ten down the left side.

  “Okay, I’m ready. Number one is easy: kind. My ideal man has to be kind. Actually, kind and polite.” I go ahead and write kind and polite next to number one. “I know that’s starting off with a twofer, but hell, it’s my list.

  “Number two, he’s established. He owns his own house or condo apartment.” I write that down and continue. “He doesn’t need to be rich, but he should be financially stable. Being rich would be a bonus, but not a requirement.”

  “Okay, V, but this is supposed to be your ideal man, so it’s all right to say he’s rich. After all, it’s just as easy to love a rich man as it is to love a poor one.

  “True.” I give a little laugh and scratch out He’s established next to number two and replace it with He’s rich.

  “Number three is sexy,” I tell Rach. “I have to want him. I know it sounds vain, but you said my ideal man. So, he’s ripped—strong arms, six-pack abs, delicious lips, and great hair.”

  “So far, so good,” says Rach. “Now, what’s your number four?

  “Number four, he plays the guitar and he plays it well.” Oh, how I love a guy who plays the guitar. I can’t help but think what a natural Danny is. He’s been playing since he was young and makes it look so effortless. I love listening to him play.

  Rach adds, “He should also share your eclectic taste in music.

  “True, good point.”

  “Number five, he owns a great car.”

  “Yes,” says Rach. “Like a sexy Porsche, Lambo, or luxurious Jaguar.”

  “Exactly!” I respond.

  “Number six…” I pause for a moment and announce, “Compassionate. I’d like the man I’m with to be compassionate. He should have a sincere heart for others. And that brings me to number seven: a sense of humour. I want to be with someone who makes me laugh, someone I can laugh with. Someone who puts a smile on my face.

  “Sounds great so far, V, but I know what you’re forgetting.”

  “What? What am I forgetting?”

  “Your ideal guy better be organized. I can’t imagine you living with a slob.” Rach chuckles at her suggestion, which admittedly is quite accurate.

  “Gosh, how right you are.” And with that acknowledgment, I write the words He should be organized next to number eight.

  “Only two more to go,” I tell Rach.

  “Number nine,” I write, and simultaneously say aloud, “he has to want kids.”

  “Of course!” proclaims Rach. “You’ll make a great mom one day.”

  “Number ten, last but not least, he should be romantic. The kind of man who will bring me flowers for no reason at all. Someone who enjoys long walks on the beach. Eating out at the best restaurants. The type of man who will whisk me off on a mini-vacation I helped plan, of course.”

  “Without a doubt,” says Rach.

  I quickly add, “And, seeing as how we’ve already established this man is rich, none of that should be a problem. Oh, and if he’s a little adventurous in the bedroom, that wouldn’t hurt either. So, there it is. The top ten characteristics of my ideal man and then some.” I let out a heavy sigh. “Now, all I have to do is find him.”

  “You will, V. I know you will.”

  Chapter 14

  Saturday morning I wake up determined to keep myself busy. I’m up and out the door before ten. Running errands will help keep my mind off Danny and hopefully reduce the urge to check my phone every ten minutes. My first stop is the dry cleaners and then to the market to grab everything I’ll need for the whirlwind of baking I have planned for tomorrow.

  As soon as I pull into a parking space at the grocery store, my phone rings. It’s Rach. “Hey, what are you up to today?”

  “Just out running some errands. Why, what’s up?”

  “I read that the psychic fair is in town this weekend and I thought we could go check it out this afternoon. Might be fun. What do ya think?”

  “You’re only trying to keep me busy so I don’t spend the day moping around thinking about Danny.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know about that. I want to check it out. Will you come with me?”

  “I thought you hated fortune tellers, considered them evil?” I ask.

  “No, that’s how my mom feels. I think you can’t take them too seriously. It’s just for fun. So, what do you say? Will you come with me?”

  “Yeah, sure, why not. Maybe someone can read my future and tell me what the heck Monday’s meeting with Mr. Rockhurst is all about.”

  “Great! I’ll text you the details. We can meet there? Say one o’clock?”

  “Okay, sure. See you there.”

  I finish my errands and hurry back to my apartment to put all my groceries away before I head back out to meet Rach.

  And as soon as I do, she wastes no time pushing me to a reading. “Check out the woman over there. She looks interesting. She’s a psychic who uses tarot cards. You should have her read for you.” Rach looks so invested, I can’t say no.

  As I sit across from the woman, I’m a little apprehensive but curious at the same time. What will she tell me? Can she really see my future? She hands me a deck of tarot cards and instructs me to shuffle them. I can’t help noticing how long and slender her fingers are. Her manicured nails with deep red polish match the red flowers on her blouse perfectly. She appears to be about twice my age, and while she smiles and seems relaxed, there is an eerie seriousness about her. Perhaps it is the way she sits so straight in her chair or the sombre yet rhythmic way in which she speaks. After I shuffle the cards, she takes them from me and turns them over one at a time.

  “Oh, I see a handsome man in your life, well dressed in a suit and tie. He appears to be in a position of authority. He’s well-liked and very charming. Does this sound like someone you know?” she asks. I nod, tying the description to Joel Rockhurst.

  “He will be instrumental in your career. You will learn a great deal from this man,” she continues. “I also see he’s connected to a man in your personal life; he approves of the man you will marry.”

  “What man? Is he going to introduce me to someone? Is that what you’re saying?” I’m a little surprised that Mr. Rockhurst is being positioned as my wingman, but hey, I’m not a psychic so I remain silent and allow her to continue.

  “No, dear. I don’t see him making an introduction, only approving of the choice you will make.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “I also see some sadness surrounding your immediate family; have you lost someone recently?”

  “Yes.”

  “This person was very important to you. The Emperor card signifies the father or authority. A strong male energy, so I’m going to say your father or grandfather?”

  “Yes.”

  “But the loss feels deeper. You’ve lost someone else too. Is this accurate?”

  Damn, she’s good! “Yes, someone I cared about deeply.”

  “I’m sorry. I can see in the cards the last few months have been
difficult for you. I’m afraid I see more sadness on the horizon, but this time it will affect someone close to you. This person will need you to be there for them when this happens. They will lean on you quite a bit. But I sense you are strong and will shoulder much of their burden.”

  “I’m not sure I can take more difficult right now.”

  “You are strong, but even the strongest of us must take time for ourselves. You can’t be all things to all people all of the time. Letting go doesn’t come easy to you, but you need to learn to give up some of the control if you are to be successful in life. Take more time for yourself, find balance.”

  “Yes, okay. I understand.”

  “I’m not sure you do, but you will.”

  The emphasis she places on the last two words is eerie. I redirect. “What about the difficult time you mentioned? Whose burden will I be shouldering and when is this going to happen?”

  “It will happen around the same time as your career change. But don’t worry, it’s not all sadness. A few months from now, things will turn a corner for you in the romance department. Rather unexpectedly, I might add.”

  “Okay, but what events? What’s going to happen? And to who?”

  Gosh, she can’t put that out there and not fill in the blanks, can she? Does a career change mean I’m going to lose my job? A knot forms in my stomach as I stare intently waiting for more information.

  “Try not to worry. There are things in life we can’t control, and this will be one of those things. I’m afraid our time is up for today. I have someone else waiting. But here’s my card. Feel free to touch base again if you’d like another reading in the future.

  I push my chair back and stand, looking around the room for Rach.“Thank you,” I say, handing her a twenty-dollar bill.

  When I find Rach, she’s looking over one of the vendors’ tables. It’s filled with books and crystals. “Hey, you ready to go?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. I was just killing time until you wrapped up. How was your reading?”

  “Interesting. Apparently there’s a career change on the horizon, and something unavoidable is going to happen, causing someone I care about to go through a difficult time.”

  “What kind of difficult time?”

  “Not sure exactly, but she said I’m going to shoulder the burden for them. She was tight-lipped with the details. Oh yeah, and Mr. Rockhurst is going to approve of the man I will marry.”

  “What man?”

  “I don’t know. She made it sound like my love life won’t be improving for a few months.”

  Rach nods but says nothing.

  “So, how about your reading?” I ask her.

  “It was more a past life thing than a future thing. Luis and I have lived multiple lives together. We are kindred spirits, always seeking out each other from one life to the next.”

  “Makes sense, you two have acted like you have known each other forever since the first time I saw you together.”

  “Yeah, what was funny, though, was the guy doing my reading kept going on about a lesson we needed to work through together, something we have yet to perfect. Guess we’re stuck with each other until we figure out what the heck that’s all about.”

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “Honestly, nothing else makes a whole lot of sense. I kinda wish I did a future reading instead. I’m getting hungry. How about we get out of here and grab lunch somewhere?”

  “Sure.”

  All day Sunday, I throw myself into baking for Rach’s upcoming bridal shower. I crank out some high energy rock and roll on my Google speaker, a little louder than my neighbours likely appreciate, and set my worries aside. Getting down to business, I let chocolate brownies, red velvet cupcakes, and vanilla sugar cookies shaped into little brides’ dresses occupy my mind and my hands. Well, that and a bottle of Chardonnay.

  At one point, I catch myself belting out “Born to be Wild” by Steppenwolf, waving a tea towel around in the air and sliding my feet across the floor like a woman without a care in the world. Deep down, nothing is further from the truth but today is my escape from all that, a day I need to keep my sanity in check. So I sip, dance, and bake my heart out for the next several hours.

  By the time the sun is setting, I have a refrigerator full of baked goods, an orderly kitchen, sparkling floor, and no doubt a little flour in my hair. Feeling rather accomplished, I remove my apron, pour the last bit of Chardonnay into my glass, let out a huge sigh and collapse onto the couch, completely oblivious to the fact I am not alone.

  Whaaaat the hell was that! I instinctively jump up onto the couch. The iconic image of Tom Cruise doing the same on Oprah’s couch flashes through my head. My eyes dart around the room, scanning the floor as quickly as I possibly can. I swear I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and it was no small thing. I think it was some sort of monster centipede. But where the hell is it now?

  I’m completely vulnerable up here, and I’m barefoot! No way I’m getting down until I know what I’m dealing with. But I have to do something. I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight if I don’t figure out what the heck that was and where the heck it went. And with the mysterious meeting happening tomorrow, I’m going to need sleep.

  Taking another scan of the floor, I fix my eyes on the closet by the door where my tall black rain boots are. If I’m getting down from my perch on this couch in search of some dog-sized centipede, I’m going to need those boots.

  I inhale so deeply my eyes suck back into my head. Counting down three, two, one, I bolt from the couch like a crazed lunatic and fling open the closet door, grab my boots and hop into them at lightning speed. I also grab the broom resting in the corner of the closet before swivelling around to scan the floor again. Reminding myself to breathe, I let out a huge exhilarating sigh as I say aloud, “I’m ready for you, you slithering, uninvited vermin.”

  Standing in the center of my apartment with a view down the hall to the bedroom, I see nothing. My blood races through my veins. Where the heck did it go?

  I see it out of the corner of my eye again. I can’t spin my head around quick enough. It moves so damn fast I can’t make it out before it disappears under the linen-closet door. Okay, I got this. Sliding my boots across the floor as if I were skating on ice, one long stride after another, the broom outstretched in front of me with bristles pressed against the floor, I lean forward, grab the closet handle and swing the door open. “Aahhhhhh, good God, it’s a mouse!”

  It scurries out past my broom, making a sharp right in the opposite direction, heading straight into my bathroom and out of view again. Shit, that thing is fast! Arming myself with the broom across my body like a hockey player about to check someone into the boards, I move forward. I peer into the room; it’s trying to hide in the corner behind the toilet, staring me down with its beady little eyes. My own eyes narrow as I stare back at it, my hands gripped so tight around the broom my knuckles turn bright red. Before I can contemplate my next move, the little bugger darts at me. Holy shit, it ran over the top of my foot—thank God for these boots! I spin around in time to watch it disappear under the couch.

  Oh hell, no you don’t. You aren’t getting away from me. I race over, toss the broom down, grab hold of one end of the couch with both hands, and with brute force lift the end and drop it again. As expected, this gets the little bugger on the run again. He darts across the room and disappears under the buffet cabinet.

  This could go on all night, I need to come up with a better plan. Clearly this mouse is powered by jet fuel. Outrunning him isn’t going to work. I’m going to have to outsmart him.

  Cookbooks! Of course.

  I walk into the kitchen and grab a huge pile of hardcover cookbooks off the shelf. These will do the trick. I go back over to the buffet cabinet and press my cheek against the wall so I can peer behind to confirm he is in fact still there. And he is, huddled against the back wall. Wait, what? That was weird, did I just gender a mouse? I give my head a shake, take the b
ooks one at a time, and form a border all around the cabinet. Now there is no space under the cabinet to which the mouse can escape—it’s trapped. The rush of my victory is swiftly extinguished when I realize I now have to get him out of there and out of my apartment.

  I collapse back onto a side chair as I endeavour to come up with a clever plan. Before I can, there’s a knock at my door. My neighbour from downstairs stands with a concerned look on her face.

  “Is everything okay, dear?” she asks.

  “Oh yes, Mrs. Kelley. Everything is fine. Why do you ask?”

  “I was watching TV and I heard a huge bang overhead. It sounded like something came crashing down.”

  “Of course, the couch. I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking. I was chasing a mouse and it ran under my couch. I tried to scare it out by lifting and dropping the end. It worked, but I wasn’t thinking about the noise I was creating.”

  “A mouse? Oh my. I’ve never had them in the apartment. We do get them in our storage unit in the basement occasionally. We always have traps down there and Mr. Kelley checks them from time to time. Where is this mouse now?”

  “I’ve trapped it under my buffet cabinet. I was trying to think of how I’m going to get it out from there when you knocked on my door.”

  “I think I still have some traps left. Let me go downstairs and get you one. They’re the sticky ones. If you can get it onto the sticky pad, I can have Mr. Kelley come up when he gets home and remove it for you.”

  “Okay, but I hate to kill it.”

  “No, dear, we won’t have to kill it. That’s what the sticky traps are for. The mouse will get his feet stuck to the trap and won’t be able to move. Mr. Kelley can remove the mouse from the pad and set it free.”