I stare at the soulful dark eyes of Nando. The picture they added to this article makes him look like the definition of trustworthy. He is cute, maybe hot. I could use a guy like him to at least give me a night to forget my unplanned life. Well, I wouldn’t use him, a famous relationship expert who gets paid substantially by women and men to ensure they find the right guy. Yes, he only helps us get the guy, not the woman. It says so in this article.
“I said relationship advice. He won’t build you a custom-made robot or a miracle.” I go to his website and read his bio. “Is this legal? He can only get you a guy. What about women? If I’m a lesbian, he won’t help me?” I click on the disclaimer. “I bet someone sued him, and that’s why he has this.”
“What are we talking about?”
“He can only help get the guy because he’s a guy. He can’t and won’t claim to know women. They are precious creatures with distinctive characteristics.” I cough and laugh. “He’s a smooth talker. What’s Nando’s real name?”
I surf through the web. “There’s nothing more about him than his picture, his smooth voice on those IGTV videos, and a brief bio that says nothing about him. Yet, people pay him for relationship advice.”
I’m in the wrong business, I don’t say out loud.
“What kind of relationship advice?” Nydia places her left leg over her shoulder, stretching her right hand. “For free, I can tell you that men are a waste of time. For a hundred dollars, I can find you a good rabbit vibrator off the internet. Nando might be short for something. I used to know a guy with that nickname, but we were kids.”
She switches poses with such grace that I wonder if she’s made out of rubber. There are times when I want to join the yoga studio where she goes so I can learn to do that. Other times I remember that yoga isn’t for me. I can’t stay in one position for more than twenty seconds, let alone a minute—unless I’m bitterly remembering that today is supposed to be my wedding day.
Then, my ass is glued to the barstool, my eyes staring at the screen searching for something useful, and my hand keeps feeding me cookies.
“But he promises to get me the guy in just thirty days, or I’ll get my money back,” I try to fake excitement.
“What are you reading?” She stretches herself across the mat.
I wave my tablet at her. “I was scrolling through the news,” I lie. “You know how you click one article, read it, and find another one, and then you’re in the clicking rabbit hole that never ends. There’s an interview with this guy who swears he can coach you to get the guy.”
She scoffs. “Can you say, charlatan? That’s impossible.”
“Not only that, but”—I lick my lips—“he claims at least a thousand happy couples since he started working on this project.”
Nydia laughs so hard her cat, Dex, lifts his head and meows at her. The glare he gives her is priceless. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I wake up and realize he smothered her in her sleep.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your nap,” she chuckles. “See, that’s why we don’t need the guy. We already have a moody male in the house. At least, he’s loyal.”
“Cats don’t buy me flowers or send chocolates just because they thought of me, or snuggle next to me at night,” I complain, but my ex didn't do any of those things either. In fact, my ex dragged me to this small town and then dumped me for something better. I sigh, “Maybe I should take your suggestion and buy myself a good vibrator.”
“We could go to the city tonight and enjoy the weekend,” she suggests. “No, wait, you’re working, aren’t you?”
“You work on weekends too,” I remind her, then give her a you’re-worse-than-me look and say, “You never stop working.”
“Shush. I have a farm and a store. I can’t just take a day off. At least, they are mine, but you work for a guy who might one day say, ‘I’m selling my business. You’re fired,’” she states.
“I thought you liked Mr. Cantú.”
“I do, but we both know he might not be around for long. Who is paying for his treatment? He is going to need that money,” she states. There’s sadness and anger in her voice. “If I could afford it, I’d offer you a job.”
She can barely afford the rent of her shop. If she didn’t own this house and the farm… I don’t think about it. We’re both so screwed. I need to start making a few calls and see if I can sell her products in big department stores. Selling online isn’t enough.
“Mr. Matthews, his business partner, promised to get someone to help me.” I roll my eyes. “He hasn’t. I’m waiting for him to say something like, ‘I’m too busy. Can you come and fix cars? While you’re at it, would you mind taking over the tattoo parlor?’”
She laughs. “Why would he do that?”
“I’m in charge of the brewery and the sports bar that he co-owns with Mr. Cantú. Someone told me that they co-own everything.”
She frowns but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even ask who mentioned that. I’m glad because I can’t remember. That’s the beauty and curse of small towns. You learn everything that happens in this place, just as people know your business too.
“How is Mr. Cantú?” She asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer. Mr. Matthews always says he’s a fighter.
What does that mean?
Is he getting better? I don’t push for an answer because maybe he doesn’t have it either.
“Well, as you know, he’s still in Seattle. Poor man, he has to have his business partner look after him because his family doesn’t care.” At least, that’s what I think. His son and his grandchildren never visit him. My shoulders slump. This is going to be my future.
Nydia will have to look after me if I ever get sick. At least she has her aunt and a few cousins who look after her.
Nydia finally pushes herself off the floor and stretches one last time. “I want to believe that he’s in the city because his family is looking after him. I might be wrong. Why don’t you call a temp agency and ask for a couple of people to come and help you?”
That could be a great solution, but I don’t want to take the liberty of doing something that is not in my job description.
“They… I mean, shouldn’t Mr. Matthews or Mr. Cantú authorize that?”
I’m still terrified that they’ll fire me. This was supposed to be a temporary job while Ronald and I set up our business. I started as the tour guide for the brewery, I’m now the manager of the Wicked Luna Brewery and their sports bar too. I’m grateful for everything they’ve given me, but if I overstep and they fire me, what am I supposed to do?
“You’re the manager. You’re in charge. I’m guessing they’d want you to be proactive. You have been working for three months straight. That’s unhealthy.”
She’s right. “It’ll be the first thing that I do when I arrive at my office.”
“If you need me to help tonight, let me know, okay?” she offers.
Ronald screwed me in a lot of ways, but because of him, I landed here in the most beautiful town on Earth with the best people I’ve ever met.