Looking for someone with a heart as big as his sense of humor. I enjoy long walks on the bike path and nights in by the fire. Dishonest people need not apply.
Yawn. Come on, Aspyn. You can do better than that.
This generic mumbo jumbo didn’t even begin to represent the spitfire she actually was. Passionate, loyal, a little nuts. I supposed putting the word crazy in her bio wouldn’t have been good, but at least it wasn’t generic.
I kept staring at the photo of her in the black halter top. Her smile in that one seemed particularly genuine compared to the others. It wasn’t a selfie. And that made me wonder who was on the other end of that camera. It was nice to see her looking happy, and I honestly couldn’t take my eyes off her. The right thing to do would have been to swipe left to reject her as an option—but that would have been no fun at all.
No. Instead, I swiped right. In any case, I knew if Aspyn ever spotted me on here, she’d swipe left to reject me faster than she could blink.
Aspyn
My old high school friend Jasmine lived in the beautiful town of New Hope, Pennsylvania, right near the Delaware River. Her house was close to the center of town, with lots of eclectic shops and restaurants nearby. It was about an hour’s drive, and I almost always came out to visit her. Jasmine’s husband, Cole, traveled a lot, and she never seemed to be able to find a sitter.
I’d called her two days ago when I got home from work after the second outing with Troy to tell her I’d like to come see her and the baby this weekend. One of the reasons for my trip was to tell her about the situation with Troy—her ex.
When I arrived, Jasmine had just put Hannah, her daughter, down for a nap. Holding a bottle of wine and two glasses, she plopped down on her mustard yellow, velour sofa. She’d always had unique style. There was a neon No Vacancy sign in the middle of the living room and modern artwork adorning the walls. The shoes she’d worn on her wedding day—Stuart Weitzman encrusted with Swarovski crystals—were proudly displayed in an illuminated glass case in the corner.
The wine glasses clanked as she placed them on the rustic coffee table, along with the bottle. “So, you mentioned you had something interesting to tell me?”
I rubbed my hands together. “Yeah, actually. But maybe you should pour us some wine first.”
I’m definitely going to need it for this.
Jasmine poured us each a glass of rosé, and I began telling her the story—how the grandson of one of our seniors broke the old man out of the facility. I felt it was important to give her the background first before dropping the bomb.
“So, ready for the clincher?” I finally asked.
She leaned in. “What is it?”
“Turns out, the guy I’m chaperoning is…Troy Serrano.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Yup. How’s that for bad luck?”
She put her glass down. “You’re absolutely kidding me.”
“I wish I were.”
“What are the chances?”
“With my bad luck, apparently a hundred percent.” I shrugged.
“What the hell is he even doing back in Meadowbrook?” she asked. “I thought he lived in Seattle.”
“He came back to temporarily look after his grandfather. I think he’s going back once his father returns from Europe.”
She lifted her wine again and stared into her now nearly empty glass. “I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah, it’s been quite the adventure. Both times we’ve taken his grandfather out, we’ve managed to lose the poor old man because we get caught up in an argument.” I thought back to our time at the park. “Well, the last time wasn’t technically an argument. Troy was trying to teach me how to smoke a cigar. And I was a bit resistant. Long story.”
She shook her head and blinked. “Wait. Cigars? Losing the old man? You need to back up.”
I chuckled. “We took him to the park so he could enjoy a cigar, since you can’t smoke anywhere at Horizons. Troy brought cigars for everyone. He was teaching me how to smoke mine, and Mr. Serrano wandered away. He did the same thing the first time we took him to the mall. He strays while we’re distracted. He totally does it on purpose and nearly gives us heart attacks.”
“Where did you find him?”
“He was talking to a lady he’d found sitting on a bench.”
She tilted her head. “What do you argue with Troy about?”
“Anything and everything. Stuff from high school. His assumptions about me. We’ve bickered over a lot of things. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“It’s been over a decade, though, Aspyn.”
“Tell that to him.” I huffed, downing my remaining wine. “Pretty sure I’ve spoken to him more in the last week than I did the entire time we were in high school. He seems to think he has me figured out. He’s so…annoying.”
Is it hot in here or is it just me? I wiped my forehead.
“Yeah…you never did interact with him much,” Jasmine said. “You’d come with us to the movies and stuff, but you were mostly the third wheel.”
“Exactly. The most interaction I had with him was after he cheated on you and I went after his car—and the donut incident.”
“You were batshit crazy to do that, girl.”
“Or as Troy likes to call me, psycho.”
“I do appreciate you looking out for me, though.” She chuckled. “The funny thing is, Samantha is now married, and her husband knows Cole. Small world.”
Samantha was the cheerleader Troy had cheated on Jasmine with. She was our archenemy back in the day.
“She didn’t even date Troy that long, did she?”
“By the time he and I broke up, it was the middle of senior year. I know they went to different colleges, so it couldn’t have lasted much longer than graduation. He probably dumped her before then, though.”
I set my empty glass down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “He mentioned that you friended him on Facebook like a year ago.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “I had a little too much wine one night after I put Hannah to bed. I was stalking his photos. He looks like he has quite the life back in Seattle. Anyway…my finger basically slipped, and I hit the add friend button. We messaged briefly after that. Just mundane crap—how are you doing, what are you up to these days—that kind of stuff. I refrained from bringing up the past. We never spoke again after that night, although I stalk his photos from time to time when I’m bored.”
“So, you must not be that angry toward him anymore if you’d reach out like that. I thought you’d never been able to let go of the fact that he cheated on you.”
As I waited for her response, I felt oddly vested in her answer.
Why does it matter what she thinks of him now?
Moreover, why is this man constantly on my mind?
She sighed. “It was high school. People do stupid shit. Is there some lingering resentment? Sure. Do I think he’s to be trusted? No. I wouldn’t date him again if I were single. Once a cheater, always a cheater. And if we were face to face, I probably wouldn’t have been able to resist giving him a piece of my mind, just to let it out. But at some point I had to choose to move on. I mean, it’s been over ten years.”