Smiling she sits high in her seat and takes a drink of her wine. “He loves me. Of course, it helps I was here the day you got sick and someone had to patch him into that conference call. Plus, you know I’d never say anything to anyone. That’s like artist one oh one.”
“Is that like the first rule of Fight Club?” I ask mindlessly as I pull up my email on my phone to switch my account from work to personal. I usually remember to do that at the end of my workday, but obviously I didn’t if it’s going off like a winning slot machine in a casino.
“Oh speaking of Brad Pitt, did you hear from that hottie? Did he wink at you or whatever it was called?” Didi’s voice is like white noise when I see the notifications.
Pages upon pages of email notifications that are “whispers” and a few actual emails. “What the actual . . .?”
“What is it?”
“Whispers,” I reply quietly and hold my phone up. Didi squeals and jumps up from her seat, sending the chair flying backward, clattering to the floor.
“You minx! I didn’t think you’d do it but you did. Color me impressed, Ally.”
I sit staring at her, my mouth agape and the phone in my hand. I didn’t click on any of the profiles. I was just drunkenly scrolling. Sure, I stared at that one profile a little longer than I should have but I didn’t . . . Flashes of my birthday play like rapid fire in my memory and I look from the phone to my feline friend sitting on the couch licking his paws.
Myson.
Damn that cat.
Chapter 4
Ally
“Allyson Honeycutt, you have to respond.”
“Don’t full name me, and no, I do not. It was an honest mistake and I shouldn’t be responsible for the mistakes made by a four-legged animal that poops in a box of sand.”
As if he understands me, Myson releases what sounds like a growl before hopping from his spot on the couch and walking down the hall, tail and chin high in the air.
“Oh I see how it is, you rotten cat! Walk away after you open Pandora’s Box of crazy—” I’m cut off by the shrill of more e-mails. First things first, change the notification tone. I’m not even certain I’ll be able to listen to that podcast again with all of the giggles we’ve heard in the last ten minutes. Quickly, I pull up my settings and mute the e-mail notifications.
Abandoning the table, I move to the couch with my phone in one hand and my wine glass in the other. Pulling up my e-mail again, I scroll through the e-mails. Cringing at a few of the subject headings, I pause on the one that makes me smile: “Prince Babalapash . . .” I know the rest of the saying from my favorite childhood television show, The Suite Life of Zach and Cody. My granny would record the episodes for me and then each weekend my best friend, Andy Nelson, and I would settle in at her house and binge episodes. Thinking of my childhood friend tugs at my heart for the best times of my life and also the first of a string of disappointing birthdays.
Shrugging aside the melancholy memories, I tap on the e-mail and read the short note.
SUBJECT: Prince Babalapash . . .
From: DC1331
To: Ally001
Hi Ally. I have to admit, this is a first for me but here I am ‘whispering’ to a complete stranger. First, who the hell thought ‘whispering’ wasn’t creepy? I mean, couldn’t they have chosen a simple wave instead? Speaking of creepy, I promise I’m not a creep. Sure, I’m sending a stranger an e-mail from prison but I’m here because I’m an idiot and, for a few years, thought I was invincible. Guess what? I’m not. Anyway, if you clicked on my subject line it means you know what I’m talking about and that means you’re already cool.
Tell me a little about yourself. Not much to tell about myself. I’m counting down my days until I’m back in the real world and thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend to talk to in the meantime. No pressure to write back.
D
P.S. Even if you only respond to answer this question please do: Is that a piece of apple pie with a slice of cheese you’re holding in your picture? I thought I was the only one to eat it that way.
Ohmygod! Why oh why did I choose that photo as my profile picture? I’m so embarrassed. Tipsy Ally is not a good decision maker especially when it comes to things like the internet.
“I’m not sure if that look is because the guys are creeps or because your wine tastes bad,” Didi says as she sips loudly from her glass. “Nope, not the wine. Hand it over, let me look at the creepers.”
I hand her my phone and she giggles. “Pie? You put a piece of pie as your picture?”
“The one of me holding pie. I was proud.”
“Well, this guy seems harmless. Let’s look him up and see his story.”
I don’t reply and instead lift my laptop from the table. Thinking for a few minutes, I cannot for the life of me remember the website, so I click to the history and scroll until I see one that matches the information on the e-mail. Once I’ve pulled up the website and clicked on the login icon, I watch a big white box fill the screen. Slowly, numbers begin ticking away. When it hits triple digits I gasp and look to Didi, wide-eyed. She starts laughing and soon I’m joining her.
“This is crazy,” I murmur before clicking on the “messages” option at the top. Using the identification number on the e-mail, I search the messages for his and then click on his profile picture.
“Hot damn, girl.” I have to agree with her.
“It’s Fight Club.”
“Prison sure agrees with him. Let me read his bio for a second.”
Granting her request, I pull up his bio and let her scroll and read. She’s quiet with the exception of the occasional “hmm” or “ohh.” When she finishes, she slides the laptop back toward me and motions for me to continue as she rises and quickly returns with the wine bottle.
“I don’t think I should. Wine is what got me into this mess. Well, and Myson.”
“Ally, it’s a few e-mails. Just respond to the poor guy. He seems harmless. Grew up in a small town like you and admittedly made some bad decisions. At least he’s honest. Plus, did you see those abs and that tattoo? If you aren’t going to do it for yourself, do it for womankind. Specifically those of us with amazing fiancés who need to live vicariously through you.”
Rolling my eyes, I pretend to struggle with the decision, but the reality is, anyone who greets me with a silly quote from a Disney television show can’t be all that bad. Besides, what’s a little harmless e-mailing with someone I’ll never meet?
Two hours and a slew of messages back and forth with D, I log off my computer and crawl into bed. Didi was so excited I was following through with the chat that she didn’t even offer one of her usual complaints about cleaning up the kitchen from dinner. Not only is he originally from a small town himself, he’s also pretty funny and has a dry sense of humor I can appreciate. He hasn’t offered up what life choices put him behind bars and I haven’t asked. It seemed a little personal and as curious as I am there’s just as much apprehension of knowing the history.
Instead, we kept our conversation light and surface. Safe.
While I chatted with him, I also filtered through the rest of the whispers, deleting most of them. The few I didn’t send to the trashcan, I placed in a folder for another time. I also made sure to go back to my profile on the website and turn off the whisper option for now.
Settling into my pillow, I bring my e-reader to life and scroll through the new books I haven’t started yet. Nothing grabs my attention so I continue to peruse my library while Myson settles into my side. Still unhappy with his trigger-happy paws and the pickle they’ve put me in, I can’t stay angry for long. He’s been my constant and my true love for years, and our bond isn’t one that will be easily broken.
Unless he pulls something like this again. Then, I’ll send him to Fin since they seem to have their own online love affair. When nothing new grabs my attention, I go to the folder marked “Favorites” and tap on one of my favorite books and let the familiar words pull me into a fictional
world of happily ever afters.
Lost in the story, the shrill ring of my phone scares not only me but Myson as he shrieks and jumps from the bed. Reaching to my nightstand, I answer the call and pull the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi, honey.”
“Hey, Mama. What’s up?”
“Sorry to call so late but I wanted to remind you that Daddy and I are leaving in the morning.”
My parents are finally taking the trip of their dreams. Three months of traveling the country in an RV. Clearly my parents have a different kind of dream than I do. My idea of a dream trip is white sandy beaches, umbrellas in my drinks, and non-caloric food.
“I haven’t forgotten since we spoke this morning. Plus, you sent me the calendar link so I have your entire itinerary.”
“Don’t sass me, Allyson Diane. Now don’t forget to call your granny too. I know she’s a royal pain in the ass, but she’s family.”
“Mom, I talk to Granny three times a week. You do know you’re only going to be in a moving tin can, not on Mars, right? I’m sure Granny will still call and drive you and Daddy crazy.”
“That woman lives to drive me crazy. She still refuses to believe her precious baby would want to spend months traveling with me, seeing our beautiful country. You’d think after thirty years of marriage she’d accept I’m not going anywhere . . .”
Like usual, I tune Mom out as she goes on one of her rants about Granny. Those two have a love-hate relationship that is mostly love but they both like to push each other’s buttons. My dad just happens to be stuck in the crossfire.
“Anyway, your dad is doing a really bad game of charades telling me to get off the phone so we can get some sleep. I still can’t believe we’re doing this. I’ll send you lots of pictures.”
“Instagram, Mom. Just put your pictures on Instagram, and I’ll see them there. You don’t need to text me them separately.”
Please don’t send me hourly updates of your trip.
“Okay, if you insist. Love you, baby.”
“Bye, Mom. Love you.”
God bless my mama but the woman can give me anxiety like nobody else. I am over the moon excited for my parents to take this trip, and even though she’ll drive me nuts with texts and calls, I can’t wait to see their adventure through pictures. They’ve worked hard my entire life to get to this point and there were days I wondered if they’d ever take the leap. But, after a health scare with Granny last year they demanded she move in with them, and then my dad decided life was too short to wait for the right moment. He put in for his retirement and now they’re making their dreams come true.
Exhausted, I place my e-reader in its sleeve and my phone on the nightstand before flipping the lamp off. Rolling to my side, I close my eyes as my phone chimes an incoming text message. Groaning, I tap the icon and burst out laughing.
Granny: Your parents are FINALLY leaving tomorrow. I’m celebrating by not wearing pants! Love you, doll face!
Me: Please wear pants outside. Love you back <3
With a smile on my face, I settle into dreams that are full of apple pie, a pants-less Granny, and one sexy guy with a very intriguing tattoo up his side.
Chapter 5
Ally
Re: What if . . .
From: DC1331
To: Ally001
What if you looked up to the sky and saw a cloud shaped like a heart? Would you take the time to enjoy it or would you pull out your phone and snap a picture to share with the masses? I like to think I’d enjoy the moment. What are the chances I’ll ever see a heart like that again? Probably none. Besides, it’s unlikely it’s actually a heart and not a random misshapen circle that I’ve convinced myself is more meaningful.
Tell me Ally, do you seize the moment or do you document it for all to see?
Curious,
D
I read and re-read the e-mail from my new pen pal of two weeks. A few days ago he proposed we play a game of “what if” and hit each other with random questions. While his are often laced with seriousness, I’ve kept mine light. I’ll answer his “will you seize the day” questions but follow it up with my own “What if condiments were banned? Could you survive such a travesty?” Really, I’m curious. I don’t think I could make it. No ranch for my fries? No Dijon mustard on my subs? I shudder at the thought.
Sitting back in my seat, I take a sip from my sweet tea and ponder his question. My instinct is that I would snap a pic and send it to Didi to confirm my eyes aren’t deceiving me. But, I should want to embrace the moment. Watch nature’s beauty before it dissipates and passes me by.
Hitting reply, I decide to tell him of my personal war.
Re: Re: What if . . .
From: DC1331
To: Ally001
D,
I’ll admit, I’m struggling with this one. Why can’t you ask me something simple like “what if you were stranded with all the Avengers on an island but could only save one, who do you save?” Thor. Obvs. But noooo you have to make me think. My instinct is to text a picture to my best friend and ask her if she’s seeing what I’m seeing. Yet, as I type that I know I need to seize the moment. I need to embrace life’s beauty. So I’m choosing to snap a quick picture and watch until the heart disappears. THEN I’ll text Didi and confirm I’m not crazytown. Best of all worlds.
My question to you: What if on a date you take your lady friend to a steak house only to find out she’s a vegetarian? Do you leave or hope she finds something else to eat on the menu?
Your meat loving pen pal,
Ally
Satisfied with my response and follow up question, I hit send and pull up my digital planner to check off my tasks so far today. Each mark makes me smile, and because I’m a little too type A, I snag my bound planner from the corner of my desk and open the pages to today’s date. With my bright red pen, I place a check mark next to each task. The paper always matches the digital version and that also makes me happy. Since I sometimes share my digital planner with my clients, I use this for the personal items I must tackle—pick up tampons, buy candy, and of course e-mail D.
Incorporating my e-mails with D have seamlessly become a huge part of my day. Yes, my workdays are a little longer because I’m easily distracted by him, but that’s a perk of working from home. While corresponding with an inmate was weird for me at first, I don’t even think of it anymore. He’s just a friend I communicate with via e-mail. It isn’t that different from my social media interactions with friends from home.
Pickerton Grove is the kind of town few people leave. Most of my high school classmates still live there and have married, and in some cases divorced, their high school sweethearts. I didn’t have a sweetheart so it wasn’t a difficult move for me. Being far from my family is difficult but we talk and Facetime regularly, and my parents love coming to “the big city” to visit me. Plus, my granny decided long ago that birds are smarter than humans and we should follow their lead and fly south for the winter. Which we do each Christmas. Whether it’s to Florida and a week at Disney or to Arizona for spa treatments that leave me feeling like Jell-O, we always embrace the warmer temperature.
Speaking of Granny, I should check in with her.
Me: This is your “are you alive?” check-in #2.
Granny: #5. Your mother has called 2 times and your daddy butt dialed.
Me: I would insert a surprised face but it would be a lie. I’ll call you tonight after Big Brother. I still think the twist is happening.
Granny: That boob girl is going to win the HOH mark my words!
Me: Swimsuit model and we shall see. Xo
When I was growing up my parents always said I was just like my granny. I was offended as a teenager but the older I get the more of a compliment it becomes. She has a snarky sense of humor I hope to master one day myself. In the meantime, we’ll just share our obvious excellent taste in television shows.
The turning of the lock in the front door draws my attention from my phon
e. As usual, Myson runs to greet Didi. A slew of swear words later, she’s huffing her way into the living room, dropping her things to the floor in the process. With her shoes kicked off and tossed aside, she drops down on to the couch with me.
“Whatcha doin’?”
I close the lid to my computer and turn my attention to my best friend. I haven’t told her about my communication with D. She isn’t one to pass judgment, and technically she was the one who encouraged me to pursue a friendship, but I’ve liked having it for myself. Although, it isn’t like us to keep things from each other so I might as well bite the bullet.
“Remember the ridiculous amount of e-mails I got from that website?” I ask, with my nail between my teeth and avoiding any and all eye contact.
“Of course. I thought you deactivated that account.”
“I kind of did?”
Brows furrowed, she tilts her head before saying, “You didn’t deactivate it?”
“I mean, I turned off new communications, but I’ve kind of been talking to one guy.”
“Fight Club?”
Nodding, I lift my thumb to my mouth again, but before I can nibble on the nail, she smacks my hand away.
“Okay, I was not expecting that.”
“You told me to message him!” I shriek, scaring poor Myson who is sitting on top of the coffee table. As he scurries away, I take a deep breath and continue, “I just took your suggestion and responded to his whisper. He’s cool.”
“And hot.”
Shrugging, I try, and fail, to hide the smile on my face. “So hot.”
Sighing, we both rest our heads back on the couch. I’ll never admit it aloud, but I’ve spent more time staring at D’s profile picture than is socially acceptable.
“We’re just friends. Pen pals really. He’s being released next week, and I’m a little bummed we’ll lose touch.”
It Was Always You Page 3
