When she asks about me, I tell her the truth. “I haven’t been in a relationship for a long time. At this point in my life I don’t have the capacity for that.”
She hums in agreement, and then says on a breath, “Same here.”
“See, I’m a monogamist and a perfectionist by nature. I don’t do things that matter half-assed. Not to mention a relationship. If I can’t be all in with someone I care deeply about, then I don’t see a point in doing it at all. So for now, it’s just a casual thing. I know the one important relationship will come later. I have no time or mental space to invest and give myself completely to someone right now. But further down the line, I know it’ll happen. I’ll want the traditional life partner, kids, pet, and a mortgage thing eventually.”
“Wow, bravo, you’re good,” she says amused. “What a cleverly majestic way to say I don’t do commitment, but hey, it’s not my fault. My future self is marriage material.” But it doesn’t have a bitter, judgy bite to it.
“My phone is about to set my poor ear on fire,” she says what seems like an hour later. An hour of flowing, pleasant conversation where we cover so many topics and get to know each other even better. I know more about her friends, her family, her job, even some of her clients than I know about people I’ve worked with for ages. And everything she said I swallowed hungrily, down to the smallest of crumbs.
“Yeah, we’ve been talking for hours. My phone feels like it’s on fire too,” I say in a sleepy voice.
“I guess we’d better goodnight it then,” Anna says softly.
I really don’t want to end this call. If I had it my way we’d carry on till I have to get up for my next shift. “Good-night, Anna.”
“Sweet dreams, Liam.” I listen to the silent line a few good beats after she hangs up, immersed in the new, thrilling sensation that’s flooding me.
Red flags and a QB Smile
Earlier this morning.
Pandora to CHICKENS: Who’s free tonight for coffee/drinks/walk my dog/go for a jog/separate my clean socks pile, name your pick.
Victoria to CHICKENS: Taking a client out to dinner, have to pass.
Pandora to CHICKENS: Is he cute?
Victoria to CHICKENS: Client is smart and beautiful, especially in a skirt. Also, business meeting!
Kayla to CHICKENS: It’s too A.M for me. Switching off. Talk when dark.
Victoria to CHICKENS: Is it just me, or is drummergirl a vampire?
And . . .
Liam to Anna: Morning, brace yourself, Anna, I’m about to propose.
My phone has been beeping and hollering all morning like an enraged Uber driver in mid-day traffic. It’s the weekend, people! I give the phone the stink eye, purposely neglecting it untouched on the nightstand, and head to brew some coffee and start the kettle. I inhale the roasted aroma while stirring my tea and fixing my favorite breakfast of everything superfood and nutritious and yummy.
Not long after, I lazily drag my feet to my room to get my phone. Given, that’s as long as I can participate in this avoidance power play with the inanimate device. Spoiler alert: it always wins. Always.
Next, on my way to my poky balcony, I pass by the living room to grab a throw blanket. The faded pink one. I like to think of it as well-loved rather than tattered and worn. With a content sigh, I sink into the giant beanbag that takes almost the entire space of my quaint balcony and perch my legs up on the railing. I secure the blanket around my shoulders, tilt my head up, and with my eyes pinched, I smile at the chilled-sunny morning. Saturday morning is a darling.
Finally, I reach over for my phone, scrolling through the many messages waiting for me as I relish each spoonful of my breakfast.
Anna to CHICKENS: I’m up to whatever your little heart desires.
Next, I read and reread Liam’s message.
Liam to Anna: Morning, so, brace yourself, Anna, I’m about to propose.
I know it’s entirely silly, my initial reaction to said message. It’s the same inexplicable reaction, like whatever’s happening inside my stomach when I hear his voice at the beginning of each of our calls. And there have been so many since that first one a couple of weeks ago. Let’s just say, his presence in my life over calls and messages is nearly perpetual. He has a stupidly deep and attractive voice, and it sounds best when it’s colored by tease or humor, or deep contemplation. His voice does things to me. Things that remind me of sleepy bedroom whispers, of warm embraces on cold rainy nights, of low masculine laughter that vibrates right to your core and sparks a fire. He affects me – in ways I didn’t know were possible. Not by someone who’s but a concept, that is.
Anna to Liam: Wow that was quick, don’t you think this question is a bit . . . lofty? Proposing without even checking the dowry value first? I don’t know what to say.
An immediate reply lands on my phone.
Liam to Anna: Simple, Anna. Say yes.
Stupid. Stupid is the thrill running through me as I read his reply. I haven’t even met the guy and he makes me feel things others didn’t manage to evoke up close and personal. I should know better than to feel the feels for . . . an illusion.
There’s an attachment to Liam’s last message, a gif. It’s an opening and closing jewelry box of sorts with a coffee bean in the middle.
Liam to Anna: I couldn’t find one with a teabag.
I grin, a full-on megawatt grin. He’s proposing “coffee,” also known as the universal code for asking someone out for a casual date. Is this really happening? Am I going to meet my online crush in real life? I like his online persona so much that meeting the real-life version intimidates me. Because, let’s be real here. What are the odds that our “blind” chemistry will work as good when we’re face to face?
My phone rings next, startling me so that I toss it like a hot potato. Panicked, I pick it up from the floor, hoping there are no cracks. I squint at it first with concern, checking for damage . . . and, if I’m being honest, stalling. Finally I answer.
“Did I freak you out?” Liam’s joyful voice asks in lieu of a greeting.
“Good morning to you too,” I say, delaying my answer that yes, he did freak me out a little.
“We covered the pleasantries over texts earlier,” he deadpans, however, with a hint of humor.
It’s my turn to softly laugh.
“Anna?” he says. “Too soon?”
I bite on my lip, holding a hesitant grin. “Umm . . . yes.”
“Yes?” The short word drips of surprise and disappointment.
My smile stretches and my heart beats a little faster when I say, “Yes, I’m saying yes. And it’s not too soon. I’d love to meet you for coffee.”
As we discuss the logistic side of meeting up, location, once again marveling at the fact that we live in the same area, and how will we recognize each other, he sounds so adorably happy.
“You never looked me up?” I ask surprised.
“No. Did you look me up?”
“Well, I had that photo of you and Little Shit, so it was fifty-fifty for me. I had an idea of how you might look.” I pause and then resume. “Confession time, I think I actually saw you. I mean I’m pretty sure I saw you already, in real life. And before you get a restraining order, it wasn’t a psycho stalker thing.”