by B. N. Toler
I frowned deeply as I watched Britney and her husband smile for a photo as they danced. “You really think so?”
“I know so. He was balls deep in a hooker in Vegas three months ago. And today,” he snorted. “He was weeping as he said his vowels.” Turning toward me, he fixed his piercing blue eyes on me and added, “Like I said. It’s all bullshit.”
My eyes widened slightly as he walked away. Did he really just say that to me? Wasn’t the groom his friend? How could he just tell a stranger something not only so secretive, but something that would be so devastating if discovered by the bride?
I stared after him as he disappeared into the crowd, a heavy feeling settling in my gut. I’d hoped for a meaningful conversation—something with depth. Instead I felt like hanky-guy had kicked me in the teeth. There had been a little hope…miniscule at best, but it existed. Hope that I was wrong and just feeling down about love and life; that one day it would all turn around. But here, yet again, was another example of why I wasn’t sure real love existed. I felt ill thinking about Britney marrying this man completely blind to his deceit. I hurt for her. Here she was being spun around the dance floor by the love of her life, and he’d cheated on her.
“You okay?” Courtney asked as she grabbed my arm.
I blinked a few times attempting to collect my thoughts. “Yeah.” I jabbed my thumb in the direction the groomsman went. “Just this guy—”
“The silver fox,” she interrupted. “Yeah, I saw him. I had to force myself to stop staring at him during the wedding. Please tell me he asked for your number.”
I sighed. Courtney, much like her mother, desperately wanted me to find a guy. I couldn’t tell her the only reason he started speaking with me was because he probably felt sorry for the lonely woman staring drunkenly at the dance floor while dribbling champagne down her chin.
“No,” I answered. “We only chatted for a second. Just small talk.” I couldn’t tell Courtney what he’d said. Britney was her cousin, telling her that her new cousin-in-law was an asshole wouldn’t go over well. It would only create a shit storm.
“Well what do you say to one more drink and then we head home? I’m beat.”
“Um, yeah,” I murmured, still a little thrown by the unexpected conversation I’d just had. And a little more heartbroken.
“Hannah,” Courtney nudged me. “What’s up with you? Daydreaming about a book?”
Shaking my head and forcing myself to clear my thoughts, I linked my arm with her. “Granny Mae wore you out, eh?” I laughed, attempting to change the subject as we made our way toward the bar.
“My grandma is a beast. I hope I can move like that at eighty.”
“Me too.”
“If you ever find yourself in the wrong story, leave.”
-Mo Willems
The cursor blinked at me, vehemently, as I stared harder at it, panic tickling its way up my spine. With each flicker, it was as if it was mocking me in a hushed whisper, You suck, you suck, you fucking suck.
Curling my lip, I wanted to argue with it; tell it how wrong it was, but I lacked the true belief and conviction that it was, in fact, wrong. The cursor, once a beloved sight, was now terrifying to me. I’d self-published three novels in my short career, my first two bringing me unexpected success. It was a whirlwind, one I had gotten lost in as I’d let it lift my feet off the ground. Lost in the float, I focused on books and readers and social media and didn’t notice my husband Ross was spending away my income. By the time I realized he’d spent almost everything, and had racked up a substantial amount of debt, it was too late. What made matters worse, my husband, who had ridden the high wave of my good fortune with me, decided he didn’t want to be married anymore. Just like that. I’d sold off everything I could with the exception of a poor real estate investment he had made, a house that was falling apart. Now I was living in it. The entire thing nearly killed me. I was destitute and alone. I’d spent weeks in bed until the mountain of financial trouble I was in threatened to crush and bury me before I got up and started writing again. I had to. It was my only way out. I could do it; write another amazing book and save my ass. I’d done it twice before, right?
Unfortunately, my less than stellar year, with its emotional ups and downs, had made me cynical, slithering its way like a snake in the grass into my work. I’d lost my mojo, my flow. And the cursor knew it better than anyone as it waited impatiently for me to make it dance across the screen along the seam of beautiful words and sentences. We were partners, the cursor and me, the two of us engaged in an intimate tango, and I was failing as the lead.
Cutting my eyes to the bottom right corner of the screen, I chewed at my thumbnail. It was 12:45, which meant I only had fifteen minutes until my lunch break was over. My office mate Maybell would be back at any moment. Shoving the last bite of my protein bar in my mouth, I washed it down with a few gulps of water. I’d sacrificed my lunch break to the writing gods, and apparently, they hadn’t been in a blessing mood. I hadn’t even written one word, and now I’d have to survive the remainder of the day on the protein bar I’d scarfed down.
Closing out my blank document with a heavy sigh, I grabbed a Sharpie from the pen cup on my desk and wrote: Don’t give up on the palm of my hand. After staring at the black lettering for a moment, I capped the Sharpie and decided to get back to work early. Just as I was pulling out the files from my desk drawer, my brother Taz moseyed in and plopped in the chair in front of my desk. His nickname was given to him as a child because he was as wild and hungry as the Tasmanian Devil.
“You didn’t take lunch?” he asked as he ran his hand through his shaggy red hair.
“Thought I’d try to get some writing in,” I admitted, avoiding eye contact with him. I didn’t want him to see how defeated I felt. I hated that my brother had had to give me a job to help supplement my income from my failing writing career. I loved him dearly, and loved working with him, but it just felt like another check on the list of how pathetic I’d become.
Taz must’ve recognized the lack of enthusiasm in my voice because he said, “You’ll make a comeback, kid. I have no doubts.”
His words crushed me and melted me all at once. He was too good to me. I didn’t deserve him. “Thanks for the faith.”
Glancing up at my calendar on the wall near my desk, he squinted his eyes as he read my writing. “You having dinner with the girls, tonight?”
“Yes,” I moaned. I’d been looking forward to this dinner all week. Me and three of my closest friends were meeting for a girls’ night out.
“Well, have fun and tell everyone I said hello.”
“Will do,” I called after him as he exited the office.
Twenty minutes late, I hustled into the restaurant where the girls and I had agreed to meet.
“There she is,” Courtney announced to the others as she saw me approaching, causing everyone to turn and face me. My face flushed.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I panted, still catching my breath from sprinting from the parking lot to inside. Geez, I needed to up it at the gym. We all hugged and everyone sat while I hung my purse on the back of my chair.
“The car wouldn’t start,” I explained. “My neighbor had to come over and jump it.” To add to my humiliation, when Ross had left, I’d not only had to sell my beautiful home, but I’d had to sell my nice car, too. Currently, I was driving an old beater car of Taz’s that he kept around for backup.
“Well, we’re just glad you made it,” Deanna said with understanding as she placed a hand on my shoulder.
Widening my eyes, I inhaled deeply and told myself to shake it off and enjoy my time with my friends. “I need a drink.” I stretched my neck as I scanned the area for anyone that resembled a waiter.
“Ordered you one when you texted saying you were almost here,” Courtney informed me just as our waiter placed a glass of wine in front of me. “We ordered meals, too. Got you your usual tacos.”
“Bless you, child.” I groaned as I took
a long sip, closing my eyes, savoring the crisp taste.
Glancing over at Deanna, I tilted my head. She looked good, as always, with her sleek brown hair and big doe eyes, but she looked tired. “You okay?” I asked.
Waving a dismissive hand at me, she made a pfft sound. “I’m good, girl. It’s just been a long day.” I glanced down at the table and noticed only a half-drunk glass of water in front of her. I quirked my mouth in question.
“Just water, tonight?” I inquired. Deanna wasn’t a heavy drinker, but she usually had a drink or two whenever we went out.
Deanna smiled softly, her eyes darting from me to Kate, to Courtney. “Well,” she huffed, her soft smile widening into a grin. “I’m pregnant.”
Courtney, Kate, and I let out a series of squeals and shrieks as we jumped up and crowded our friend in an awkward group hug where she, more or less, covered her head with her arms to protect herself from us. We were jumping up and down like kids after a massive sugar high. Guests at other tables leered at us in our obnoxious celebration, but we didn’t care. This was the best news ever. Deanna and her husband Allen had been trying to conceive for years. They’d done several rounds of in vitro with no success. The last time was supposed to be the last time. They’d decided after all the time and money they’d spent that if the last round failed, kids just weren’t in the cards for them. It had been heartbreaking to watch them struggle through it all, which made this news all the more stellar. Deanna was a saint and would be an amazing mother. I was beyond excited for my friend.
We all settled back in our seats, our eyes glossy with happy tears and smiles plastered on our faces. Deanna’s cheeks became rosy, clearly somewhat embarrassed by all of the attention. But this kind of news deserved a big fuss. “I’m due in December,” she informed us, quietly.
We spent the majority of the evening talking about all things baby; names, gender, the love you feel for your child. Deanna was on cloud nine. She’d reached it—her prime—her happy place. Her life was finally rolling out the way she’d so desperately wanted it to. No one deserved a happy ending as much as Deanna. She was the calm of our little foursome, wise and steady. When the rest of us found ourselves in turmoil and on the verge of unraveling, it was Deanna that anchored us with understanding and the voice of reason. There was a softness to my dear friend that I envied. The world hadn’t hardened her. And while I wished so badly to have that, it felt more important for me to protect her. She was the good heart, the person you sometimes wondered why they were your friend and why they loved you so much because they are just that good.
And now she was having a baby.
I was immensely happy for her, but I couldn’t deny, deep down, I felt the slightest twinge of jealousy. I wanted to be in my prime—my happy place. I thought by now, at my age, I’d have children, too. Ross and I had talked about it, many times. But every year there just seemed to be a reason to put it off until the next year. Now, I guessed, it was a blessing we hadn’t had one. But none of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was my beautiful friend’s dream coming true.
After two hours, Deanna and Kate finally bid the group good night, both of them having to work the next day, which left Courtney and myself alone at the table covered with tortilla chip crumbs and empty salsa bowls.
“When do you have to be home?” Courtney questioned as she pushed some of her teal-dyed hair behind her left ear.
“In a bit.” I sighed. “I wanna get an early start tomorrow.”
“How’s the new book coming?”
I pressed my lips together, dreading having to answer this question. Courtney knew my writing and desires for my career better than anyone.
I shrugged and released a long breath. “It’s…going.”
Burrowing her brow slightly, she cast me a sideways glance from behind the sexy teacher-glasses perched on her nose. “You haven’t written anything.” It wasn’t a question. She knew me well.
Shaking my head a few times, I stared down at my drink. “I’m…stuck.”
“Well,” she sighed, “you have a lot on your plate.”
“Yeah.” I snorted. “Like a heaping pile of bills.”
“You ready for it?” she asked, her mouth quirking up on one side. Courtney had been my biggest advocate, not just in life but also with my career, which wasn’t always easy. A true friend and advocate had to be one hundred percent true. Which meant if she hated my work, she had to tell me. And if she saw me messing up in life, she had to tell me that, too. We all needed soft friends like Deanna, but we also needed the hard-ass friends. Courtney was my brass knuckles friend, she delivered blows that hurt, but were needed. She didn’t coddle or pussyfoot around.
Taking a long swig of my drink, I swallowed then set it on the table and leaned back in my chair, my right arm resting on the table. Might as well get it over with. “Give it to me,” I told her.
“You gotta stop being so pissed off,” she stated plainly. “I know Ross bailing, moving away and leaving you shouldering the debt by yourself was shit. It sucks and it’s unfair, but it’s not going to change.”
“I know,” I insisted.
She raised her hand to stop me. “I know you do. But you really have to own it, Hannah. I mean, just look at how you behaved at my cousin’s wedding. You’re a freaking romance author. You should love that shit—the whole forever love and happily-ever-after stuff. Instead, you looked like the most miserable person there.”
I frowned. “I did?” I couldn’t deny the ceremony itself had been torturous for me, but I’d thought I’d muddled through it well. I raised my chin slightly, feeling a little defensive. “I enjoyed the reception.”
“Only after you drank two bottles of champagne,” she pointed out.
“You enticed me to attend with free booze,” I exclaimed. “And you drank just as much as me.”
She laughed a little. “That is true. But come on, Hannah. It was a wedding. A really beautiful one at that, and you had a scowl on your face for most of it.”
I pursed my mouth, annoyed. I’d tried damn hard to appear like I had enjoyed myself. I fought the urge to tell her what the groomsman had told me; to point out that as fairy tale as her cousin’s wedding appeared to be, it was all a lie. And that is why, even before he’d told me about the groom’s treachery, I dreaded attending. Because I knew as pretty and perfect as it seemed, it was all bullshit.
“I know you’ve created men in your books that come along and save the day, but life isn’t always a love story. You gotta put your big girl panties on and be your own hero.”
She was right. Lowering my head, I murmured, “I don’t even know where to start.” It was an honest reply. “I feel like…this is it sometimes.”
“It’s not,” she insisted. “Not even freaking close. You hit a big streak of bad luck and you’ve been reeling. It’s time to come back to earth.”
“I’m trying, Court,” I sighed. “Do you think I don’t know that? It’s all I think about. I lay awake for hours at night, staring at my ceiling trying to figure out how to fix…me.” I pointed to myself. “I just can’t…do it. I write romance and nothing about my life is romantic right now.”
“Then it’s time for you to get back out there.” She didn’t say dating, but I knew that’s what she meant.
I turned my mouth down, the thought of trying to date unsettling. I hadn’t dated anyone since my ex and I split.
“Not every guy is Ross,” Courtney said as if she’d read my mind.
“I know,” I grumbled. “It’s me. I don’t trust me.”
She slanted her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“I’m exhausted. I don’t trust myself to decipher the assholes from the good guys.”
Shaking her head, she leaned forward and stared me in the eyes. “There’s no way to do that. At least not right out the gate. You just have to take a chance and hope for the best. And stop assuming every guy is a jerk.”
“I’m emotionally drained. And I’m not up to gett
ing hurt again,” I admitted quietly. “It takes too much out of me. It makes me resentful and cynical, and it comes out in my work. Obviously.”
“So what’s the plan?” she snorted. “Be alone and miserable, and lack any life experience because you’re scared? How the hell will you find any inspiration to write a book that way?”
Twisting my mouth, I scowled at her. She had a point; I had no argument for that. Stories came from experiences, and my life was greatly lacking in experiences unless I could somehow curtail digging in my car seats for spare change and eating SpaghettiOs every night for dinner into a romance novel.
Holding my hands out, I asked, “How? How am I supposed to meet anyone? Where do people my age go to meet?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Bars?”
“Your age? You act like you’re eighty.”
“I feel like I’m eighty,” I quickly quipped.
“Well you’ve got a pretty banging body for eighty,” she jested. Tapping my cell phone where it sat on the table, she ordered me, “Put your password in.”
Grudgingly, I uncrossed my arms. Placing my thumb over the ON button, I unlocked the screen. As she took the phone and started thumbing at the screen, I started to panic. Her thumbs were moving a mile a minute. “What are you doing?”
“I’m putting you on a dating app,” she answered as if it was no big deal, not even bothering to glance up at me. She was doing what?
“What?” I whisper-hissed. “No, don’t do that.” I flung my hand out, attempting to snatch my phone back from her, but she jerked away from me.
“This is happening,” she informed me, her expression firm.
My stomach knotted with dread. “Aren’t those like hookup sites? I’m way too old for that.”
This time, she darted her gaze up to mine. “Some people use them for that, yes, but not all. There really are good guys out here that are looking for something real. This will be good for you,” she assured me, waving a dismissive hand. “You can chat with anyone you’re interested in from the safety of your home, and then decide if you want to meet up with them or not.”
