Every Girl Does It(7)

Beep. “Hi, Amanda. This is Derek...” Erase. “Hi, Amanda. It's Derek again. Where are you?” Erase. “Amanda, really. I mean, why don’t you–” Erase. Are all of these from Derek? It wasn’t until I got to message eight that the annoying voice on the other end wasn’t that of Derek, but of my best friend and co-worker, Kristin.

“Hey, girl, I heard about the wedding. I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was such a creep. Call me, no matter how late. I just put the kids to bed, so make sure you call the cell, not the house phone. Love you.”

Kristin is a gem. So what if she tried to set me up with Derek; it’s my fault for being desperate and saying yes. A shower is necessary before calling her back, and I can’t help but groan at the reflection looking back at me in the hallway mirror. Not only does my hair scream, “homeless”, but my face is all blotchy from stress. I pull my long, dark hair from the ponytail and feel immediate relief. My hair is too thick to keep up for so long. It always ends up giving me headaches.

What was it about me that made Derek think I was easy prey? Vulnerable isn’t how people would describe me. High strung, outspoken, unladylike, those are usually ones I’m familiar with, but vulnerable? Easy? Never. Re-evaluating my dating strategy is a necessary conversation I need to have with Kristin.

The shower did nothing to wash off my shame from earlier, but did make me feel a lot more positive about the following day where I was planning on spilling my entire guts to my bible study group. It usually consisted of my best friend Kristin, my other crazy friend Lexy, and her sister Raine.

Although I do love being clean, staying in the shower turns me into a prune, and that happens to be a pet peeve of mine. While I’m being honest, I’m not fond of water. It has many uses. I love to drink it, but being wet makes me angry. Mrs. Butterworth is maybe rubbing off on me, but she’s all I could ever handle of the feline species.

Picking up my phone, I dial Kristin’s cell number, ten o’clock shouldn’t be too late. I hope. Ring, ring, voicemail. Her kids wake her up at the crack of dawn; sometimes I wonder if they’re somehow related to roosters. I tried to babysit them one time. It didn’t go well. Leaving their house at noon, I got home and fell asleep on my couch until nine pm. That girl deserves a medal.

Why voicemail? Poor Kristin. I feel like yelling and she probably knows it. Since the whole town is aware of what transpired today, what I need is a good solid sleep and some time at church. I walked over to the computer to turn off the monitor and laid my hungry eyes onto Mr. December.

So what if I stomped his foot, he deserved it. Looking at the monitor again, I click on “order now”. As I’m taken to the payment page, I justify actions, or try to. The money is going for a good cause. Our firemen are underpaid, and the donation to the local homeless shelter only sweetens the deal. Feeling fully justified, I groan as I see how long it will take to arrive. Two to four weeks!

Time for sleep. One last peak at Mr. December, and I shut down the computer. Tonight I’m testing the theory that people will dream of the last thing they thought of. Maybe in my dreams he won’t talk as much. He is more attractive with his mouth shut.

Unfortunately for me, the last thing I remember as I go to sleep is Derek’s pitiful face.



Chapter Three



Three am, four am, five am. Ring! Ring! Ring! Who in their right mind? Whoever they are will wish for death after I’m done with them. It’s Sunday! Church doesn’t even start until eleven. Who wakes up at this ungodly hour?

“Hi this is Amanda, leave a message.” BEEP.

“Amanda.” Silence. “This is Derek, I just wanted to tell you that I’m over you. You and your stupid cat. I hated your cat, by the way, it's the ugliest cat ever. And I didn’t really mean it when I said I loved you. So there. Go, talk to that stupid fireman again. See if I care. You are so—”

The machine cut him off, which is lucky for him. Because I was about ready to get out of my bed, get in my car, drive to wherever this psycho lives, and cut his hand off so he’ll stop dialing my number.

“When will it end?” I yell into my pillow.

Six am, seven am, and again the phone rings. “For the love of all that’s holy!” I scream as loud as possible. But it's not the phone, and the doorbell continues to ring. Running to open the door, baseball bat in hand of course, I’m ready to show I’m in no mood for conversation.

“Easy, killer,” Kristin says as she holds out a fresh Starbucks coffee. “I come in peace.”

As I smell the steaming aroma of caffeine, I could kiss her.

“Where are the kids?” I ask as I take the coffee from her and quickly down the hot contents. “And Brad, where’s Brad?” Waiting for her response, I sit down on the couch and continue my love affair with the grande latte.

“They had Sunday school remember? He teaches the three year old class once a month, so I decided to stop by and see how you were holding up.” She winks and takes her scarf off, revealing a low cut V-Neck dress.

“Inappropriate,” I cough, not making eye contact.

She rolls her eyes. “Please. That’s why I had the scarf on. Stop being so dramatic.” She looks at me and waits for me to spill. My lips are sealed. I’m not going to relive yesterday’s events. She would have to kill me first, which I might welcome after yesterday and last night’s dramatic happenings.