Maybe Later(18)

“Are you still practicing yoga?”

“And Pilates,” I add. “Jiu Jitsu is off the plate, but I might try barre, it looks—interesting.” I scrunch my nose.

“Look at you, working on that hot body,” she says with a singing tone, fixing her tangled blonde hair.

Taking a bite of cake, I say, “I’d be hot if I laid off the sweets.”

“Are you still seeing your therapist?”

Oh God, the problem of having a best friend is that she’s on my case all the time.

“I Skype with her every week,” I say with a grunt.

“Have you made any friends lately?”

“Yes, Simone. We’re trying to get to know each other. You might want to teach her a word or two.”

“Ha! You have to try harder,” she observes.

“I’m nice to others, that counts, doesn’t it?”

“Not necessarily, you’re nice to everyone. If I recall, that was your goal for last year—to make a new friend. So far you haven’t done shit.”

“This might be the year I finally make a friend in real-life.”

“If I ask about boyfriends…” her glance moves away from the screen.

Damn it, she’s on a roll today. I laugh uncontrollably.

“Tinder is a fucked-up place. You can’t find a date, let alone a boyfriend,” I say and show her my phone. “There’s not one eligible bachelor. I keep swiping left at every prospect.”

“Have you tried real-life dating?”

I gasp, touching my breastbone lightly. Then, compose myself and ask innocently, “Is that a new app or a website?”

“Try harder,” Laura insists.

“I could set up a classified ad, something like…” I say, “give me a second.”

Quickly, I run to my office for an office pad and a pen.

“Female, late twenties, looking for a tall, dark, handsome guy with a sense of humor,” I say, scribbling squiggly lines on the yellow paper. “He must have good taste in music, movies—and be a Netflix connoisseur. Honest, faithful, and full of integrity. Gentleman need only apply.”

“Don’t forget dependable,” she inputs.

“Kind,” I add.

“Fatherly,” she says. Laura watches her husband walk around the living room cradling their adorable baby.

Could I get one of those babies to go?

Then, I add, “He’d have to have one of those tiny creatures for me to know if he’s father material.”

“Not necessarily,” she adds.

“A sense of humor?” I question because I’m not sure if that’s necessary.

She nods and says, “You’re too witty to be with a serious guy. You need someone who will humor you. He has to be smart and support your career which is all-consuming.”

“Respectful is a must,” I add.

“Confident.”

Biting my pen, I wonder if there’s a word for…Caliente in bed. “Passionate?”

“You want a miracle, not a man,” Alistair yells from wherever he is.

“I’d make do with just a few of those qualities,” I say, finally writing some of them down. “Smart, a gentleman, dependable, with a sense of humor, hot would be nice but not necessary.”

“Supportive,” Laura offers her two cents.

“Yes, let’s add that to the list. Integrity and honesty. A good family man,” I say. I don’t have a physical description of the perfect guy, but I do have a few qualities that are a must.

“He has to deal with your demanding personality,” Alastair brings up a delicate subject.

“I’m not demanding,” I protest.

“You expect a lot from others, sweetheart. Which is fair since you give a hundred percent all the time, but when someone fails you, you write them off,” he concludes sounding just like my therapist.

“I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to write them off, Alastair,” I remind him. At this point I’m just giving him ammunition to mock me.

“There’s that too,” he says, no mockery or pity in his voice.

“Are we psychoanalyzing me? I already have someone handling my crazy, thank you very much.”

“My woman is concerned about you. You’re too far away and isolated,” he explains. His face is filled with concern. He’s just as worried as Laura. How can I make them understand that I’m happy?

I am happy, aren’t I?

“Look, I appreciate you guys, but in all honesty, I’m doing fine,” I correct him. “I’m not lonely, just alone by choice. There’s a difference.”

“You should visit,” Laura suggests. “You can stay as long as you want. I’ll set up an office just for you.”

“I’m not saying no.”

“But you’re not saying yes either,” she concludes with a sad face.

“Exactly.”

Am I a bad person for not wanting to go back home? It’s kind of impossible to think about using my vacation time to go to a place where I feel asphyxiated by memories and obligations. Before she gives me one of her lectures, I check the time and say, “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Go out and enjoy the day,” she says.