At my age, I shouldn’t have the excuse that my brain was swimming in alcohol, but sadly, that’s all I have for now. While I scroll through the exchange, I realized there’s nothing too incriminating or embarrassing. Actually, he was nice, and I feel the need to thank him or at least to apologize for waking him up so late.
720327xxxx: Should I apologize for last night? I feel so awful about our exchange. I’ve never drunk texted before. I can’t believe I wrong texted you.
He doesn’t answer, and I understand. If it was me, I’d be changing my phone number immediately. Still, I send him a heartfelt apology.
720327xxxx: Look, I totally understand why you are not texting back, I would ignore myself too, but I just want you to know that I am truly sorry, and it won’t happen again.
I head to the restroom and wash my face, which isn’t as bad as I imagined.
“I don’t understand where Eros got the orange juice,” Nyx says. She’s in her kitchen, staring at the almost empty fridge.
“Morning,” I respond. “Where is he?”
“I think he went out jogging,” she answers. “I can’t remember much of what happened last night, but he brought a duffle bag with him.”
“He always does,” I remind her. “In case he has a hookup.”
“Classy,” she grunts. “There’s nothing in the fridge for breakfast.”
My phone buzzes, and when I see the text, I smile.
303895xxxx: Hey, no need for apologies. I should be thankful since you just got me out of a family tragedy.
720327xxxx: Family tragedy? :face with raised eyebrow:
303895xxxx: I was having brunch with them. Things always end up in drama. I told them there’s an emergency, and I had to leave early.
720327xxxx: Then, I guess we are even. You helped me last night, I’m helping you today.
303895xxxx: Do you have a name?
I stare at the phone because I never thought this would go beyond the apology, but even when I had a buzz (well, more than a buzz) going on last night, it was fun and different to be chatting with him. While I argue with myself about what to do next, I walk back to the guest room. If Nyx finds out I’m texting a stranger, she’s going to lecture me about the ‘stranger danger’ rules. She’s the most sensible of my siblings.
I can hear her now, “This can become a PR nightmare, Persy.”
And if she finds out that I was trying to text Ian, she’ll be furious. She doesn’t believe in second chances. If you broke up, it’s over, and you have to move on. I’m not tempted to go back to Ian.
720327xxxx: Several, my parents were undecided, so they gave me 2 middle names. They thought I’d be the last one, so why not pile all the names they wanted to use.
303895xxxx: I assume you have younger siblings.
720327xxxx: Just one, but I’m the only one with a long name.
303895xxxx: Which you aren’t sharing with me because…
720327xxxx: I think anonymity is best in some instances, don’t you?
Speaking to someone who doesn’t know who I am feels invigorating. I can relax and just be … me. There is a lightness to everything. He doesn’t know that people rely on me to improve their relationships—or find the love of their lives. I only give advice, but, sometimes, people think I’m like Aphrodite. Ironic, since I’m named after the queen of the Underworld. Though, my parents chose that name because she’s the goddess of the Spring Growth.
303895xxxx: So, what do I call you? Wrong Text Girl?
720327xxxx: Ha!
303895xxxx: I can come up with something else, how about Vodka Lover?
720327xxxx: Vodka is okay, but I wouldn’t call me a lover.
303895xxxx: Saturday Night Girl?
720327xxxx: You have a different woman texting you every night?
303895xxxx: If that was the case, I wouldn’t have responded to you until Saturday or told you to wait until then. :wink:
I chuckle and try to think about a comeback, but I can’t because he texts me again.
303895xxxx: So, do you have at least a nickname, if you don’t want to share your name?
720327xxxx: You can call me Joy. It’s one of my middle names, that way I’m not inventing some weird person—that’s tacky—but I also need to keep my identity private. How about you?
303895xxxx: What happened to anonymity?
720327xxxx: You can’t ask for something when you’re not willing to give the same in return.
303895xxxx: …
720327xxxx: Don’t you have a middle name, a nickname, some codename we can use, so I can program it in on my new phone.
303895xxxx: Question, how did you end up texting me instead of your ex?
720327xxxx: I was tipsy, and I lost my contacts—including my ex’s number. I missed a few numbers :Grinning Face with Sweat:
303895xxxx: That’s some twist. Not many have my number.
720327xxxx: So, I’m one of the lucky ones?
Time passes, and he doesn’t respond. Eros comes into the room and asks, “Is someone going to cook me some breakfast?”
I laugh. “Nope.”
“It’s the least you can do for me after being your DD and getting you orange juice for the hangover,” he protests.
Nyx comes into the room, too, and looks at me because, as we saw earlier, her fridge is empty and sad.
“If you want breakfast, drive me home, and I’ll cook you brunch.”
Not surprisingly, he agrees. When we arrive at my apartment, he parks next to my car. I notice that one of the expensive sports cars that is on the same floor as mine is gone, though.
“Your neighbors are loaded,” Eros claims, as we make our way toward the elevator, and he keeps staring at each car longingly. “Anyone famous live here?”
“We live in Colorado, not California or New York,” Nyx reminds him.
Before I prepare any breakfast, I feed Simon, who has been on his own for two nights in a row. Yesterday, when I came home to change clothes around noon, he glared at me and was very vocal about his disapproval. Maybe I should’ve taken him to my parents.
“Next time I plan on leaving you for more than twelve hours, I promise to ask the grump next door to keep an eye on you,” I offer, as I rub his neck a couple of times.
“You pissed him off,” Nyx declares. “If you want to move out, I have a spare room, Simon.”
“He is perfectly fine here,” I shush her. “Can you get some coffee going, please?”
I make omelets. It’s such a shame that we aren’t at my parents or that mom isn’t here. She makes the best pancakes in the world. Once I’m done cooking, we sit at the island to eat.
After I serve breakfast, Nyx and Eros leave. Cleaning my place is easy since there’s a service that comes weekly to do the basics. So, I go out to the balcony to read. A couple of times I glance toward Chad’s place, but he isn’t there.
Three hours after the last text to wrong guy, he finally answers, and I can’t help but smile.
303895xxxx: Call me Lang.
Joy: What is Lang short for?
Lang: And the questions begin. I could ask the same. Is Joy short for Joyce?
Joy: No, it’s just Joy. I guess my parents used it to balance the rest of my name. It’s too complicated. The next time you have insomnia, I’ll be more than happy to explain more ... not really.
Lang: Hey, I don’t want to be rude, but I am heading back home, so I can’t text anymore.
That sounds like an excuse. Didn’t he say he was on his way back before? I want to bring that up, but it feels rude, and it is definitely none of my business.
Joy: Drive safe and, again, sorry for last night.
I don’t even know why I bother programming his number, but I do. My parents call me a couple of hours later. They are in Denver, and they want to have dinner with Nyx and me. My phone stays silent, and I don’t know why I am so anxious to hear from Lang.
“Everything okay?” Mom asks.
“Yeah.”
“Did you change your number back, or are you still using the one Callie bought for you?”
I sigh. “Maybe I should just go and get myself a phone. The other day, my editor emailed me angry because her calls are going directly to voicemail.”
That, and I wrong texted someone because I didn’t have Ian’s number handy. I’m unsure if it was a good thing, though. I no longer want to reach out to Ian, but Lang is really what makes me glad that I had this number. This is such a conundrum.
“If you need money,” Dad offers.
“I can cover it,” I promise them. “It’s just a matter of principle. Callie never confronts her problems.”
“She’s only twenty-three,” Mom says.
“Twenty-three,” Nyx corrects her. “You wouldn’t let us get away with stuff like that Mom. There’s nothing wrong with reaching out to her ex and asking for her sister’s cellphone.”
“It’s not even up for discussion,” I tell them because, if we continue, this is going to become all about Callie and how angry we are with her.
We get it. She’s the baby, our parents sheltered her, and we really had different upbringings. I just wish they didn’t defend her every time she behaves like a brat. One of these days, she’s going to fuck up royally, and no one will be there to clean up her mess—not even my parents.
Waving my hand to the waiter so we can order more drinks, I say, “We’re having a nice quiet dinner. Let’s not discuss something that’s totally irrelevant.”
You know what is relevant? Lang, but I won’t tell them about him because Nyx is going to give me a few samples of what could happen to me if I keep chatting with him. I can just hear her telling me about some single woman found dead at the bottom of a ditch after she tried to meet a guy who had been texting her for the past six months.
“Fine, we’ll change the subject, but you really need your old number back,” Nyx states.
They’re right. When we are done with dinner, I say my goodbyes and head to the cellphone store. Thankfully, I arrive a few minutes before they close, and the employee agrees to set up my phone—even if he has to stay a few extra minutes.
He explains to me how to sync the cloud of my old phone. The moment I get home, I follow his instructions, and I recover everything I thought was lost—including all the voicemails I haven’t heard for the past couple of weeks. They can wait until tomorrow. I’m about to put away the phone Callie bought me when I realize there are a few texts from Lang.
Lang: Are you planning on going back to your ex?
Lang: Sorry it took so long to get back to you. My parents live far away, and I didn’t have phone service.
Lang: Okay, I’m taking this as a goodbye.
Lang: Unless you are busy and then it’s okay if you text me later. I’m at home, so any time is a good time.
I smile and text him back.
Joy: I’m pretty sure I told you last night that I’m searching for answers to learn why I can’t keep a relationship, not to get back with the guys I’ve dated.
Joy: It is safe to say that, for a moment, I entertained the idea of getting back together with one of them. Not my proudest moment.
Lang: So, you want to improve for the next guy?
Joy: No, I… It’s complicated.
Lang: I’m sure I can keep up, try me.
Joy: I think I fall for the same guy over and over again. Different name, face, and background, but they have something in common. Once they know me better, things fall apart.
Lang: That’s pretty deep for just a guy to date.
Joy: Well, I want more than just a date. I’m almost thirty, and I would like a little more than just ‘fun’ times with my guy friend.
Lang: You want a real relationship.
Joy: I mean, they were real. But as I keep analyzing the time I spent with them, I realize that all those relationships were superficial. I gave them a lot, but they never gave me much in return. I just never stopped to think about it until now.
Maybe I came on too strong because he stops texting me. I sigh and go on with the rest of my routine. It’s not until I’m going to bed when I get another text from him.
Lang: Why don’t you take a step back? Enjoy life? You don’t have to follow a pattern. College, career, marriage, and kids. Sometimes your path is different, but if it’s meant to be, it’ll come to you.
Joy: Are you reading a self-help book? That sounds profound.
Lang: No, I learned a thing or two from life. Even when I’m a non-believer.
Joy: We are definitely on opposite sides. I am looking for the real thing.
Lang: What if you are on a wild goose chase because there’s no such thing as a real thing?
Joy: Playing devil’s advocate?
Lang: No. I’m giving you a little taste of reality.
Joy: I’ve witnessed it. Love is real. Not some chemical imbalance, a movie, or a fairy tale. Just because you missed your chance, it doesn’t mean that everyone is doomed to have a loveless life.
Lang: What if you missed your chance because the guy you were meant to be with never spoke to you?
Joy: If it’s meant to be, I’ll cross paths with him again. Notwithstanding the difficulties, soulmates are meant to find each other and spend an eternity together.
Lang: That is some deep shit. Are you a poet?
Lang: That doesn’t matter, let me get this straight. Are you telling me that I’ll find that same girl I lost?
The question has so many different answers, and as I’m about to type, I notice it’s already ten, and I haven’t meditated yet or gotten ready for tomorrow. Instead of expanding, I shorten my answer.
Joy: Maybe she wasn’t the love of your life. Who knows …
Joy: This is a fun conversation, but I have to go to bed.
Lang: Sweet dreams.
His endearing goodbye puts a smile on my lips. It’s been a long time since I spoke or texted someone before I headed to bed. How I wish I could meet just the right guy? Someone like Lang who I can easily speak to without any reservations.
Fourteen
Her
Monday, June 15th
Weekend update is one of my favorite blogging features. It’s so easy to type how I spent the past three days. Usually, I have something happening with my sisters on Friday or Saturday. This weekend was different. Other than drinks with Nyx, there’s not much I can add to it.
Callie called me this morning to warn me that I can’t mention her on my blog, podcast or social media anymore. Before she hung up, she said I was lucky she didn’t sue me for ruining her life.
Jonathan did a number on my sister. Again, I’m not liable for his lame excuse to break up with her. I wish I could tell everyone about my drunken text exchange with Lang. He’s funny and I want to spend more time chatting to him.
Would it be wrong to text him?
I look at the time and wonder if it would be okay to send him a silly greeting or at least an emoji.
What I like about this guy is that he doesn’t know much about me. I’m not the famous Persy.
Don’t get me wrong, I like being me. Except, men think I’m easy and will put out during our first date. There are more than seven billion people on this planet, but even though I have less than 1% of the population that follows me on social media, for some reason, every man who sees my picture on my dating profiles knows exactly who I am and wants to test drive me. But I’m not a fucking car.
I should try a different approach, but there aren’t many alternatives.
Rosi, my editor, sent me a website where they could match me with the perfect guy. It’s a program based in scientific analysis and computer algorithms. They want me to decide my future based on a freaking algorithm. Who does that? It should be my decision to seek that kind of help. Not theirs.
I am staring at my screen. There is nothing in my contract that stops her from emailing me suggestions, just as there is nothing signed by me that agrees to use this crap. However, I think I am desperate enough to us
e it.
“Why is it so hard to put yourself out there?” I ask Simon, who is licking himself clean.
I stop staring at my computer when I hear some noise coming from the balcony next door. Instead of greeting my grumpy neighbor, I walk toward the wall that separates our places and hold my breath when I notice his gorgeous body planking only a few inches above the floor. He is such a cliché. Toned muscles, sweaty skin, and tattoos.
“Do you ever work?” I tease him.
“Stay on your side of the fence,” he warns me.
“Do you think I’m going to jump like Simon?” I joke, but really, I’d like to jump him.
“I didn’t mean physically, but you should stop staring at me.”
“Just like you did last Friday, when I was exercising?”
“More like having some kind of bug attack,” he claims, finally pushing himself up, straightening his taut body. “What kind of workout was that? Some new trend…”
Honestly, I tune him out, he is so beautiful and hot. My mouth goes completely dry. I can’t say a word or even move.
Why am I staying away from him?
It’s not like I’d just sleep with him because he is the definition of gorgeous. My brain and my body have to connect with a guy before we have sex. This guy and I don’t connect well. Most of the time, we’re arguing.
“Are you feeling okay, Persephone?” he asks.
“Persy,” I correct him.
“What is wrong with your full name?”
“Nothing really, just … people don’t understand her story that well. They really don’t know it. So then, I become the poor woman who was abducted and raped by the god of the Underworld. Do you know she went willingly?”
He shakes his head. “Who would be so enthusiastic to join the lord of evil in the Underworld?”
“Persephone saw him for who he was, and not the evil overlord that everyone damns. She’s the only one who was willing to discover the man underneath the myth. My theory is that she found out that he was amazing. Not just that, she dug deep inside his soul and found the man of her dreams.”
“May I remind you, he tortured people for a living,” Chad says.
Wrong Text, Right Love Page 9
