Warning

by Rayana S Hughes

  “So how are you feeling? Is your leg healing without pain?” He looked genuinely concerned so I allowed a break. “I feel much better, thank you for asking. I took a bath last week and fully submerged my cast!”

  His eyes widened, “You’re not supposed to get the cast wet.”

  I laughed aggressively again,“Of course not, silly. But I did it anyway.”

  I grabbed his fork and pretended to reach down and scratch my leg before giving it back to him. “The only problem is that I think there is mold or something growing inside my cast because whenever I get a whiff of my cast it smells like moldy cheese, want to see?” I flung my leg on top of the table (sorry Mino).

  Marcus almost fell out of his chair trying to back up. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  I looked him dead in the eyes for a beat before removing my leg from the table and saying, “Of course, I’m kidding. The real question here is…”

  I leaned forward. “Why did you HIT ME WITH YOUR CAR?”

  The whole restaurant quieted and looked in our direction. I gave them a princess wave and returned my gaze to Marcus. “You have five seconds to explain before I call the cops and knock you out.” He looked on the verge of tears before reciting his rapid-fire apology.

  “I am so sorry I hit you. I only looked down at my phone for a second and when I looked up, you were already in the ditch, I figured maybe you wouldn’t notice it was me, so I drove away. But then guilt got the best of me and when I found out you were admitted to the hospital I worked at, I had to check on you and make sure you were okay. I also had to make sure you didn’t know it was me, that’s why I offered to take you on a date.”

  Dang, he didn’t have to be that honest.

  He swallowed and continued the begging fest, “But please don’t call the cops. I’ll go to jail and I’m too young to rot behind bars.”

  I looked at him with incredulity. “You hit me with your car, got it fixed, and took me on a date?”

  The guy was as daft as dense bread. He shook his head in agreement. I stared at him in complete silence until our food arrived. He searched my face for understanding. I said nothing and ate my food in peace. He continued to stare at me even when I asked the waiter for to-go boxes, including one for Marcus’s untouched salad.

  I told the waiter we were ready for the bill and waited while Marcus paid it. He scanned the receipt, his eyebrows silently shooting up. I ordered him to take me home and he did. He walked me all the way to my apartment door.

  He waited for a second longer to see if I would say anything. I pointed at him, then at my phone, and shrugged. I then slammed the door in his face. One year later, I never called the police or told anyone I knew it was him. I was not doing this for Marcus. I was doing this because the food at Minos was really good and I was happy that Marcus introduced me to the place.

  Intermission: There Truly is No Time Like the Present

  Behold. Before you I stand, a woman of character, a woman of experience, a woman of class, and a woman who is thirty and still single. Thirty so far has meant Ali calling me and screaming, “Ha, I’m still in my prime!” before hanging up.

  As well as throwing me the best birthday celebration yet. Thirty also means that I finally got a job as an associate at a law firm after years of zilch. Not only have I met an influx of guys to be disappointed in, but I also have learned to love myself for who I am. I realize that I am not single because I’m not good enough, or because no one likes me. I’m single because my Mr. Right has not arrived yet. I will probably meet him when I turn ninety-four, or I might meet him tomorrow.

  Regardless of the unmapped future, I will take each day with stride because eventually I will find him, and you will too, even if you are older than me. Worrying about having a romantic partner all the time stops you from living the best life you are destined to live. You are not someone to be messed with. You will soon, if not already, have the confidence to say you are single and be proud of it. Being single is not all you are, it is only a little part of the puzzle.

  That being said, I will look back on all my failing of advances toward love and laugh, not with bitterness, but with a light heart.

  It’s time to live in the present and I’m not done writing just yet.

  He thought he was slick, but I got free dinner

  (yes, we are going to ignore the broken leg & totaled car)

  Age 30

  Presenting the Present

  I now proudly introduce you to age thirty and my life at the moment.

  I decided this year to make a drastic change, so I dyed my hair blonde and got a puppy. I wanted a Saint Bernard and found some lady on a sketchy puppy for sale site. The pictures of the puppies she posted practically made me throw my credit card at her. She was thankfully the real deal and I brought home my seven-month-old little rascal.

  His name was Tallulah, and I figured if the poor thing could talk, he would beg me to change it, so I named him Chimmy Chunga, CC for short. Much obliged.

  CC makes a mess of my new house. Yes, that’s a thing now. The keys are mine and I no longer get a doorman. But I manage and I’m so proud to say that I’ve independently gotten my own place debt free. But CC not only ripped apart my couch, he also peed on the carpet, and defecated on my bed. I was considering returning him but realized he didn’t know any better.

  I gave him to my brother who is now thirty-three and married. I could barely take care of myself, so it made no sense that I would be able to take care of a dog. I also found out that CC was in fact a girl. I don’t know how I made that mistake. I prefer not to think about that any longer than I have to.

  When I think of how far I’ve come, it amazes me. I have a stable job. I have a desk with my name on it, and people respect me. Considering how women are treated in the workplace, I’m happy to say that my experience has been fairly, unfair.

  I work with mostly males and they are sticklers for making me feel special. On my birthday, they threw me an office party. They got me a cake that said: it’s a girl.

  When we go out for cocktails, they always order my drink before I get there.

  Yes, at the bar I worked at.

  No, I don’t miss that job.

  The times have changed, and I feel great. When working on different cases, our firm divides them into categories based on who is the most qualified. I handle automobile wreckage claims respectively, while one guy may deal with domestic violence, and another with various company claims. It is a very fluid system. And my firm has a strict keep it in the folder policy.

  That means that we don’t talk about our individual cases with each other. Complete disclosure for the client. Does that stop us from indulging in guessing games from time to time at the bar? No.

  The guys like to do this thing where they mime the case they are dealing with. And we can try to guess it, but they technically can’t tell us if we were right or not. Hiding facial expressions is a lawyer’s best trick, so we never really know if we are right about guessing the others’ case. The game is about fun although it may lack any accuracy.

  My favorite person to work with in the office is a guy by the name of Asher. He stands six feet tall with dark brown eyes to match his skin and a stark afro. He is a charmer of all sorts and he always wears funky-colored socks hidden under his suit. Every day, they are different patterns and they have puns on them sometimes. We all know how I feel about that.

  Asher was the first to welcome me in the office and he made my desk name tag. It read, “I’m defensive and I’m proud, wave at me because I’m Waverly.” I may have to explain it to all my visitors, but I love it a lot.

  Asher was quickly becoming the source of my affection until the usual heartbreak happened. This one was my fault. One day during lunch, I was trying to see how much pasta I could fit in my mouth in one bite, when Asher sidled over. He was decked out in his usual uniform. I couldn’t talk with my mouth full, so I just pointed at his feet.

  He looked at me with an undeniably cute smil
e and said, “Oh, you want to see the socks for the day, I just got them yesterday as a prewedding gift from Lina.”

  Now, I could have sworn that we weren’t getting married yet, so I was left utterly confused. He looked at me expectantly, “So, are you coming?”

  My mouth was still full, so I just shrugged my shoulders. It was Asher's time to be confused. “To my wedding. Waverly are you coming to my wedding this weekend? I gave you the invitation two weeks ago.”

  I looked around my area and found the invitation I had been using as a trivet for the past couple of weeks, under my pasta bowl.

  Oops.

  Asher tried to hold in a laugh. I looked at him in sincere apology and promised I would be there. He left me to my pasta and the invitation.

  The real questions were: How did I not know he was engaged? And why did I spend the last year crushing on a guy who was, this whole time, in love with some woman named Lina?

  I successfully pulled the sheep’s wool over my own eyes.

  I knew it was the wrong move six months ago to ignore Asher showing a wedding ring he bought to the whole office. In my defense, I figured if I feigned ignorant, the lucky girl would have been hit by a bus before they tied the knot. Alas, I was wrong and still single.

  But there was absolutely no chance of that void being filled by Asher now, so I wrote him off as a casualty and went shopping for a dress to wear to his wedding.

  Fast forward to the wedding. I was allowed to bring a plus one. So, I brought Tina. She is a sucker for weddings, and it made her oh so very excited for her own that would be happening in three months.

  She forced me to wear a bright red dress that emphasized my hair clip. Imagine having a dress only emphasize a hair clip. I tried not to take the passive aggressive comment too seriously. Tina can tend to be blunt, but I still love her.

  After the forty-eight hours it took to get ready, we made our way to the venue of the wedding. It was a farmhouse that was built more like Dracula’s lair. There were primroses that littered the aisle leading to the altar. The altar was dark stained wood with dark red accents spread throughout. The theme was very medieval Transylvania. I dug it.

  While everyone was at cocktail hour on the other side of the house, Tina and I decided to be a tad foolish. She pretended to be the groom and played wedding music on her phone while I walked down the aisle. The closest I would ever get to engaging in this cliché yet ceremonious occasion considering how my love life was treating me at the moment.

  Of course, right as I was about to air-kiss the groom, the whole wedding party decided to make themselves known. There were a couple of people who stood out the most in this group. From the dashing Asher, to the bewildered yet amused and drop-dead gorgeous woman beside him that I assumed was Lina. Tina and I quickly scuttered off the podium and made our way to our seats with the rest of the guests while Lina went to put on her wedding dress. What seemed like only moments later, Asher and (strangely) the priest stood, waiting nervously for the bride to arrive.

  Lina’s bridesmaids, and Asher’s groomsmen had already made it down the aisle in dark red dresses to match the men’s oxfords. A beat later, the wedding music started and here came Lina in a breathtaking strapless white gown that flared at the knee and had gold crystals in a crisscross pattern lining the bodice that matched her golden goddess inspired makeup. All the gold accentuated her caramel skin and her curly hair was glittered with specks of gold. The vail was a train style: that thing was at least one billion feet long.

  Over the top really worked for this couple.

  When she got to the altar, the priest started to cry, and she gave him a hug. Turns out, he was her dad which explains why he was more nervous than Asher.

  They did their vows, yada yada, they kissed and lived happily ever after.

  The reception was held in the farmhouse.

  The house was large on the inside with a circular dancefloor. There were tables set up to face each other and the dance floor so anyone who wanted to sit down had a view of the dancers.

  After a simple meal of fillet mignon, risotto lobster, and poached pears, the bride and groom made it to the floor for their special dance. It was a smooth tango and Asher was pulling out all the tricks, he lifted her and spun her. She even dipped him. The whole moment was riveting from beginning to end—much better than I could do at my own nonexistent wedding. We probably would have just done the robot and called it quits.

  The reception was dwindling down in number and of course Tina and I were the last ones along with the DJ.

  The happy duo had already headed off to catch their flight to Bora Bora, and the rest of the guests left shortly after.

  We decided to dance until the lights shut off. Tina made the DJ play her Spanish playlist and although I had a lack of comprehension, I enjoyed being able to let loose.

  The DJ even joined us and spun me around a couple of times. His name was Harvey and he was adorable.

  Intermission: Phrases for the Less Fortunate

  It has been many years since I’ve been single as previously documented and as the years have painfully passed, I have been subject to hearing the phrase: “I cannot believe you’re single, you are so great! Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

  Not only does the statement make me want to barf and recoil simultaneously, but it also makes me temporarily hate the person as well. I don’t think that people understand that, when you are single, the last thing you want to hear is that, “it makes no sense.”

  I’m single because all the great men in the world are either married or on a different continent. I’m waiting for the moment when I meet a guy who is secretly a prince and he takes me away to his castle.

  Back on topic, the more people question why I’m single, the more I question why I’m single.

  It’s a proven fact that if these heathens let me live my life, I would be less stressed about my ovarian timebomb ticking. Sorry, grandma.

  Another term that tends to metaphysically kill me is: “Love will come when you least expect it.”

  So, help me if I get told one more time that my knight in shining armor is running late, I’m going to lose it. The worst is hearing it from someone who already has a significant other and feels like they are some wisdom wizard. It’s quite irritating.

  I try not to bare my teeth, beat my chest, and climb up a tree in anger. I usually just smile and change the subject.

  Another phrase that has earned headlines is: “If he doesn’t like you, he doesn’t deserve you.” Give me a break, the guy who rejected me last week has not lost an ounce of sleep since he smashed my heart. Notice how it’s the people closest to you.

  Now, if it was anyone else, rejection would be reduced to a mere side effect, but for you it’s because you were too great. It doesn’t make a scrap of sense. So, for the love of Saint Pete, please, anyone who says these things, put a sock in it.

  Intermission: Lackluster at Best

  Have you ever been compared to your friends?

  Do you ever wonder who the insipid one of the group is?

  Do you wish that your life was as easy as your friend with their perfect life?

  Do you think that people are going to pity you because you have no love life?

  If you answered yes to any of those questions, then you’re in an abysmal position, sorry to say it. If you now notice your social standing in your friend group and discover you don’t like it, don’t worry, it’s not too late.

  All you have to do is follow three easy steps:

  Step one is to avoid being compared to your friends at all times. Anytime you and your friend get mentioned in the same sentence. Scream at the top of your lungs, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Step two is to acknowledge that your luck is the worst. So, constantly complain about your situation and be the party pooper at every gathering, whether it be casual or formal.

  The final step is to be a hypocrite. Do the exact opposite of what you say and lust after people who will never mee
t your expectations. That way, at least you know that they are out of your league, or in some cases, way below subpar. In the end, you will find your heart in mostly one piece and prevent having to tell dozens of heartbreak stories to your future grandkids.

  Intermission: Nervous?

  I would like to go into depth about this natural function that sets out to ruin my life anytime a winsome man walks into my life.

  To put it bluntly, if nerves were people, they would be the supervillain in every hero story ever made. Not just that, they are the ones that spit on babies. To top it off, nerves are the people who like veggies on pizza. I mean, pizza is pure carbs, why try to make it healthy? That was over the second it was drenched in a pound of butter.

  My personal experiences with nerves have spanned far and wide. If you remember my teenage years, my nerves told me it was a good idea to flick the guy I liked.

  I try so hard to turn my nervous feelings into excited ones, but it’s like my brain has acknowledged that it wants me to suffer, and the only way to do so is to embarrass me in front of any person whatsoever. What’s worse is the moment right before I talk to the boy when my knees go weak and I feel as if I may pass out. My heart also chooses that moment to speed up and threaten to deflagrate right then and there.

  On the outside, I successfully manage to be the picture of calm. If I were at sea, it would be a sunny day with unvarying waves. There would be a seagull chirping overhead my buoy as I spot a small tropical island on the horizon with my lover waiting for me by the shoreline. Or maybe I look like I’m about to run in the opposite direction, I’ve never checked.

  Be that as it may, it frustrates me that I can’t seem to turn off my nerves. The worst is the shaking. My gosh, the shaking. It starts with my hands, and then transfers to every part of my body. It doesn’t stop until I calm myself down. Everyday becomes a challenge. I start to see the light, and then I snap myself out of it.