Page 22 of Actually Yours

Bella reads the profiles of a few more candidates.Who knew so many men in our orbit have a job beginning with the letter A?

“So that’s a no for Ted in advertising?”

The group all nod.

“And we’re vetoing the architect?”

“He’s too old,” Amy shouts, the wine making her more boisterous than usual.

“And the ‘automotive engineer’ is getting bumped because of a technicality?”

“He’s a mechanic trying to jazz up his job description,” Madi points out, being all logical and acting like the rules in this planare more than what we just made up on the spot. “We can revisit him when we get to the letter M.”

My whole body shudders at the thought as I sing the ABC song in my head, counting on my fingers as I go. If I have to revisit Lachlan the mechanic, that means I’ll have gone through thirteen other letters before him. Thirteen dud dates to get me to the letter M.

No. Thank. You.

“Let’s park that one for now,” Lilly says, reading the panic on my face and attempting to course-correct. “I think we have a winner in our midst.”

My five friends look at each other with matching grins.

“Congratulations, Amelia. You’ve got yourself a date with an accountant.”

Brilliant.

*****

When I get home later that night, I’m consumed with a sense of relief. I had onlyjustsurvived Book Club. After my friends had decided that my perfect match may just be Tom the accountant, Lilly had promptly texted Oliver to let him know to set something up and now I have a date with a stranger next Saturday night.

“How did I let this happen?” I ask Callie, the cactus.

When she gives me nothing in response, I do what I always do in times of stress. A beauty treatment. In my bathroom, I take my time deciding on what will best soothe my frayed nerves, settling on a hair mask that promises to add both shine and volume to my hair, in only one hour.

With Taylor Swift blasting in the background—I’m in myReputationera—I carefully apply the lotion to my hair, starting at the roots and working my way down. Once I’ve applied a thicklayer, I place the pink cap that came in the box on top of my head and sit down to let it work its magic. Given I’m someone who changes their hair colour on a dime, it’s important to make sure I give my hair some love.

“Now what?”

It’s only 9 p.m. and I don’t have work in the morning. This treatment needs to stay on for another fifty-five minutes, so…I should probably call my mum.

Calling my mum is a weekly chore I’m eternally finding reasons to put off doing. Each week I find creative ways not to call her until I’ve run out of hours. If I don’t call her tonight, she’ll make her displeasure known. In her own creative, passive-aggressive ways.

“Mum first, thenGilmore Girlsas my reward.”

I press on her contact on my phone, holding my breath while it rings. Once, twice, three times.Maybe she won’t—

“Amelia.”

Groan. Internally, so as not to set her off.

“Hi Mum.”

“I was wondering when you were going to find the time to call me.”

And we’re off. The guilt trips. The backhanded insults. The making me not want to call again.

“It’s been a busy week,” I get in as she draws breath. “With work and…stuff.” I don’t tell her about Bella’s wedding; she won’t want to hear it. Like I’d told Jake, my mum was once burnt, forever shy. She doesn’t want anything to do with relationships.

“You’re not seeing someone, are you?” She sounds suspicious and annoyed. So, normal, then.

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