Wrong Text, Right Love

by Claudia Burgoa

  “She’s my friend,” she insists. “The only friend I’ve had since childhood.”

  “You have more friends.”

  “Yes, but it is different. I made friends while I was traveling with my parents. However, Sheila was my constant. When I visited my grandparents, she was always around. We are close, you know? I mean, she’s not Nyx, but…”

  “Hey, I’m probably wrong, Persephone. Who are you going to believe, your friend or the asshole from hell?”

  She smiles, and my heartbeat goes back to normal, and yet, I don’t think anything is normal when I’m around her. Who the fuck knew that I’d be here on a Friday night baking cookies, eating corn dogs, and drinking wine with this quirky stranger?

  Chapter Twenty

  Saturday, June 20th

  Joy: Are we allowed to see other people?

  Lang: Yes, but not to date-text other people. We are texting—steadily.

  Joy: I’ve never gone steady via text. This is… I mean, we just met, and how do I know we are the right fit?

  Lang: Well, you can always wait for something better. Maybe it is right around the corner. Just know, if the occasion arises … I’ll make sure it fits.

  Joy: No dirty texts. I’m watching you.

  Lang: You walked right into it, Baby.

  Joy: Ugh… Maybe we are not right for each other. But what if I spend my whole life waiting?

  Lang: I hope you don’t change your mind. We could be great together. I could promise that no one will text you the way I do.

  Joy: Fine. I’d rather give this a shot than live the rest of my life textless.

  Lang: I like you, Joy. You are refreshing.

  Joy: It’s a gift—and I like you too.

  Lang: How was your week?

  Joy: It was long. There’s a lot of stuff going on in my mind, and when that happens, I spend a long time working.

  Lang: What do you like to do when you aren’t busy?

  Joy: Hmm, let see. I like to read. Sometimes, I read a classic book in several different languages—that takes me about a year. It’s interesting to see how some translations are almost perfect, while others are not as close to the original version.

  Joy: How about you? What do you like to do on your free days?

  Lang: Wow, I got myself a smart texter. Maybe we’ll be in a relationship where we can talk a very dirty version of Jane Austen’s classics.

  Joy: :wink: :flustered face:

  Joy: Don’t ignore my question, what do you do with your free time?

  Lang: I’m always busy. Like you, sometimes I get engrossed with work, and I spend hours if not days testing, changing… I have a confession. I’m a workaholic. But that’s enough about work. Where are you?

  Joy: I’m at the Botanical Garden.

  Lang: Which one?

  Joy: Downtown. It was between that or the zoo. What about you?

  Lang: I’m at Garden of the Gods. Just finished climbing.

  Joy: I never thought about going there to climb. We usually hike there and then go to Manitou Springs shopping. I should tell my brother. He’s the only one who would go with me.

  Lang: What are your favorite things?

  Joy: Precipitation. I know it’s so random, but I love to watch the rain and the snow fall. The scent of flowers. Except the Titan Flower.

  Lang: Which one is that?

  Joy: It’s the one that smells like a rotting corpse. My parents took us to see one in bloom. They only last about 24 hours open. 48, if you are lucky.

  Lang: Why would you want to see and smell a flower that reeks and doesn’t last for too long?

  Joy: It’s an experience. I guess that’s another one of my favorite things: to experience the world. What about you?

  Lang: Favorite things … figuring out how things work. I used to take apart electronics to see what each component looked like and what it did. Then, I’d put it back together. Sometimes, I would combine appliances. My father didn’t love it.

  Joy: You recreated Frankenstein’s monster out of kitchen appliances?

  Lang: It was entertaining, but never worked out.

  Lang: And I wasn’t going for Frankenstein. More like a waffle-blender machine, or a toaster-mixer gadget. I built my first computer at thirteen.

  Joy: Most children would be proud of joyriding at that age—after borrowing their parent’s car without permission. Apparently, you weren’t most children.

  Lang: That’s what my father used to say. It drove him insane. That doesn’t mean I didn’t steal his bike, or his car, or the boat. We were a lot younger than thirteen. I hung out with my brother—a lot. He followed the school of Evel Knievel.

  Joy: Sounds like you had a good balance.

  Lang: I had an interesting childhood. How was yours?

  Joy: Interesting as well. Every time I look back, I just wonder how lucky I got to have my parents and the life they gave us. We weren’t rich, but it was rich in love and adventures.

  Lang: If you could change anything?

  Joy: About my childhood?

  Lang: Yes.

  Joy: Nothing. I am pleased with all of it, How about yourself?

  Lang: My parents. I wish they had divorced sooner.

  Joy: That’s a tall order of impossible. You can change your future, wish to change your past—which isn’t too healthy. However, wishing to change other’s people’s past. Wow. Was it unbearable?

  Lang: It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, and we were too young to be able to stop it or to escape.

  Joy: That explains why you don’t believe in love or relationships.

  Lang: We go back to love isn’t for everyone.

  Joy: It is, and it always finds a way. There’s someone for everybody.

  Lang: As much as you may think that’s right, there’s always the exception.

  Joy: You believe you are the exception. Maybe you are wrong. You agree that there’s someone for everyone but you, because your parents never found somebody else?

  Lang: What’s your favorite part of the Botanical Gardens?

  Joy: The aquatic gallery. I love water lilies. That’s the only reason I would love to own a house with a big yard where I can set up a water garden.

  Lang: With Koi fishes?

  Joy: Yes!

  Joy: I guess you are not much of a flower lover.

  Lang: No, but I know a lot about them. We spent a lot of time with a landscape architect when we were younger.

  Joy: I’m afraid to ask why, but I have to feed my curiosity.

  Lang: Every time we broke something at home, Dad would make us work to pay for it. He had a friend who did landscaping.

  Joy: Did you ever set up a water garden?

  Lang: The closest we got might be an artificial pond with a waterfall. They wanted to add koi fish. I never got to see the finished product, so I don’t know what they added to it.

  Joy: Is it safe to say that you like nature?

  Lang: I prefer it over people.

  Joy: You don’t like people?

  Lang: I prefer to avoid them at all cost. They are overwhelming.

  Joy: You just haven’t met the right people.

  Lang: Wait, I have friends. There’s a big difference between socializing with strangers and having a circle of people who I trust. There are plenty of the latter.

  Joy: For one moment, I swore you were one of those people who barely left the house and avoided everyone.

  Lang: I can be like that—more when I’m working on a project.

  Joy: What’s your favorite food?

  Lang: I don’t have any preference. Really, I can eat just about everything.

  Lang: How about you?

  Joy: My problem is when I get obsessed with one specific thing. Like chocolate covered pretzels. When I discovered them, I ate them at all times of the day, until, one day, I couldn’t eat them anymore.

  Lang: So, you don’t like them.

  Joy: Nope, I got bored of them. I do that with everything.

 
Lang: What’s your current obsession?

  Joy: I haven’t found anything yet, so I’m eating in moderation. It’s safe to say that, currently, I don’t have any favorites.

  Lang: I’ve never met anyone who has a favorite only for so long.

  Joy: It’s normal. Most people do it with clothes or shoes—I do it with food.

  Lang: Why?

  Joy: When I was young, I used to move around often, and when I found a food I loved, I ate it constantly because I knew that, after we moved, it’d be almost impossible to eat it again.

  Lang: That’s smart. Get it before it’s gone forever.

  Joy: Exactly. You understand. However, it became a terrible habit. My parents never noticed because, as I said, we moved around too fast and too often.

  Lang: Are we having lunch?

  Joy: So, having lunch is okay, but organizing the picnic was too forward.

  Lang: You are getting the hang of our rules.

  Joy: Who created these rules?

  Lang: Google, the dating gnomes, your fairy godmother… I don’t know. I’m making them up as we go.

  Joy: So, I can add to them.

  Lang: You’ve been adding to them. You’re the one who said no sexting. However, you never said when we are allowed to do it again.

  Joy: We’ll know when the time is right.

  Lang: Is this like an x amount of dates rule?

  Joy: I don’t believe in the five-date rule.

  Lang: So, you have sex on your first date.

  Joy: No. It’s more like, we don’t have sex until I trust him. It can take a long time.

  Lang: Insert a long sigh. You are playing hard to get, Babe.

  Joy: We are working for it :wink:

  Lang: Can we fool around?

  Joy: In your dreams … maybe.

  Lang: What are we having for lunch?

  Joy: There’s a vegetarian place close by, I’ll have a sandwich and a smoothie.

  Lang: You like smoothies?

  Joy: Yes, frozen fruity drinks are the best.

  Lang: Would you call it a favorite?

  Joy: No, I favor them.

  Lang: Are you saying you are drinking them in large quantities and might get bored soon?

  Joy: No. It’s safe to say that those are here to stay. How about you? Favorite drink.

  Lang: Nothing in particular. I’m a simple man.

  Joy: That’s something a complicated man always says. There’s nothing simple about you, Lang. Even your nickname—or name is strange.

  Lang: Go get something to eat. I’m going to drive back home. Thank you for a great afternoon.

  Joy: I had fun.

  Twenty-One

  Her

  Friday June 26th

  Never trust a blind date. I would never get caught giving this advice online, but believe me, it’s the best advice. If you have to do it, get someone to go with you. Now, here is the conundrum that I faced a few hours ago after I agreed to meet this guy, Robert, at The Hideout Sports Bar. I realized that Nyx is out of town. Bringing Eros along on a date would be a major mistake, and Callie isn’t talking to me—at all.

  Instead of cancelling, I brought the only person who was available.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” I tell Chad, who offered to come along. “Just so we are clear. You are just there to make sure it’s safe. Not to be a part of the date.”

  “I thought we discussed that you shouldn’t meet guys at bars.”

  “I met him on—”

  “One of your dating apps. You’ve told me five times already,” he interrupts me. “I’m not sure how that can be any different.”

  “Remind me next week to create a profile for you,” I tell him. “I can show you the difference, and then we could be double dating.”

  “I don’t need shit to hookup,” he states.

  I snap my fingers. “Right, you hookup, which needs much less effort.”

  “You put too much effort into this show—and I mean the whole social media shit,” he complains. “You didn’t need all that makeup.”

  “This time, I’m documenting everything. Unless you buy the publishing company that’s making me write this book—I am obligated to post pictures of my dates and write in detail, even when it fails.”

  “So, you know it’s going to fail.”

  “I’m not sure if it’s going to be a success, but I received a call from Sheila. The publisher is freaking out because there’s nothing about my dating life on my social media.”

  He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. I’m sure he has an opinion about something, but I’m glad he keeps it to himself. If he talks shit about Sheila again… Honestly, I’m not ready to deal with that. I’m waiting for Nyx. Not because I can’t make a decision, but I need her as my lawyer to dig into the contracts we’ve made and make sure that Sheila hasn’t done anything more than charging me for the stuff that Chad gives her—for free.

  It might sound crappy to him, but when you live in a place as expensive as Los Angeles, you have to find ways to make some extra money. I don’t see anything wrong about charging me for a service that I would pay to another company. What makes me suspicious about Clyde and Sheila aren’t the little things that Chad has told me, but his behavior.

  He is grumpy, but he’s not the demon they’ve painted him to be for so many years. He is nice in his own grumpy way. Just look at him, he sacrificed his Saturday night to join me on this crazy quest. I’m sacrificing this Saturday night, too.

  I’d rather be at home texting Lang.

  Talk about obsessions. Is it because I feel like, at some point, he’s going to disappear from my life or because I really enjoy our chats?

  Definitely the latter. Though, I am afraid that, at some point, he is going to disappear. If he knew more about me, he’d stay away completely. Fuck, why am I feeling like I have some kind curse that keeps the nice guys away from me?

  “You okay?” he asks, as we arrive at the bar.

  I nod in response because, really, why am I not okay?

  “What’s the plan?” Chad asks.

  “I don’t have one. This wasn’t my plan for today. I could be doing something else, you know?”

  “Like baking cookies?”

  “No, baking cookies … gingerbread cookies,” I specify. “That is for those times when I want to rip someone’s head off, but I can’t because it’s … illegal.”

  He laughs. “That explains why you were only eating heads last night. You’re fun,” he concludes.

  I glare at him.

  “Sorry, I forgot that you hate being fun,” he mocks me. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We sit by the bar with a stool of separation. In that case, I’m close enough that I can swoop in, but far enough, that I can give you privacy.”

  As we enter the sports bar, I regret … everything. I hate to waste my evening meeting some random guy who swiped right and seems like a good enough guy to mention in my book.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asks, as I sit down.

  “Piña colada with melon liqueur,” I request.

  “No, you can’t possibly be drinking that during your first date,” Chad chides me. “Do you understand that they can drug you, and you wouldn’t notice.”

  “I’m right next to my drink,” I inform him. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been out. I’m with a friend—you. Are you telling me that you’ll be hooking up and deserting me?”

  “No, but I prefer if you ask for a vodka tonic or a shot of tequila.”

  “I trust you to keep an eye on me,” I conclude and order my piña colada.

  “Here you go.” The bartender sets my drink down on a cocktail napkin.

  He turns to Chad and asks, “What about you?”

  “A bottle of water, no ice.”

  I give him a curious glance. “You could ask for tap water.”

  “He’s going to kick me out for not drinking,” he reminds me. “Who is going to take care of you?”

  It’s obvi
ous that he’s never been a wing person. He is hovering too close, and if no one knew us, they’d think he’s with me.

  “Persy?”

  I almost push Chad because, finally, Robert, my date, is here. I quickly straighten my shoulders and plaster a smile, looking up, and what do you know, instead of good-looking Robert from Denver, I see Thomas Solis, my ex-boyfriend.

  “Hey.” The word comes out like a squeak.

  He’s the last person I want to see. Chad tilts his head and crosses his arms. “Who do we have here?” he asks sarcastically. “You know Thomas?”

  Nodding slowly, I look around to see if I spot a girlfriend or a fiancée. I’m surprised to see him at a bar on a Saturday night, alone. This guy is the definition of serial dater. He can’t be alone. Yet, he can’t be with one woman for more than the term of your apartment lease.

  “How are you, Pers?” he asks, giving me a hug.

  “Umm, I’m well?” Confused because he doesn’t seem surprised to see me. “How about yourself?”

  “I saw that you were going to be here and had to check on you. Seriously, dating on apps.” He shakes his head. “What is going on with you?”

  “That’s what I told her,” Chad butts into the conversation.

  “Oh, Thomas, this is Chad, my neighbor. Chad, this is Thomas—”

  “Your ex-boyfriend,” he says, grinning, as he shakes Thomas’ hand. “What’s happening, Chadwick? I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Chad responds. “How’s the place going?”

  “Wait, what do you mean? You own this place?” I stare at him confused. “Didn’t you quit your job to start a human resources company?”

  “I sold it and set up this joint. I have another one in Parker—where the brewery is.”

  “You own restaurants?” I stare at him in confusion.

  “No, sports bars,” Thomas answers. “We all have to grow up and find our thing. I’m sure someday, you’ll stop posting your life online and do something that you love.”

  “I love what I do,” I protest.

  “You can’t possibly think that you can do that forever.”