Page 1 of Under The Cherry Blossoms
2003
My head feelsfoggy as I watch my father from my cross-legged position on the floor where I’m sitting, still trying to make sense of everything that has happenedtonight.
“Skylah?”
I blink once.Twice.
“Skylah.” My father’s voice is louder, more insistent this time, and I see him crouched down in front of me. He’s holding my hands in his, but I can’t seem to feel them. The sense of security that normally follows his touch hasvanished.
“Honey, this is for the best, you’ll see. Your mom and I have been so unhappy. We needthis.”
As the words leave his mouth I hear a glass smash on the tiled floor, just outside the bedroom door, and hear my mother’s footsteps fade away as she rushes down thehall.
Sighing, my father stands up, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, and a look of frustration crosses his face. Closing his eyes, he takes a breath and seems to regroup as the sound of his phone buzzing with a text fills theair.
Looking down and pulling up the message, a slow smile lights his face, all sense of frustrationgone.
It’s her,I realize with horror and I feel a single tear escape. Brushing it away furiously before he can notice, I watch as he slides his phone in his back pocket and resumes packing with a renewedvigour.
Moments later, he zips his suitcase closed and approachesme.
“C’mon, honey, walk me out,” Dad says, holding his hand out to me. I take it hesitantly. There’s no way I can stop this so refusing seems petty, and I allow him to lead me to the frontdoor.
“I’ll call when I get home,okay?”
Home.This is your home, I want to scream.Here with me and Mom!But I don’t. I nod mutely and let him draw me into a tight hug. All too soon, he pulls away and with a last brush of his hand across my cheek, he turns and walks out the door. I watch him make his way down the front path, hop into his car, gun the engine and drive off down the street. The hand I had raised to wave goodbye, drops quickly back down to my side. There’s no point. He never lookedback.
“Ugh, shit.”The words fall from my lips as I trip over the cushion left on the floor with all the grace of a stumbling hippopotamus. Okay, maybe that last glass of wine wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had. As I pull myself up I search for my kindle and sigh in relief as I spot it safe on the couch. I reach down and pick it up as I make my way to my bedroom, ready to curl up and enjoy my latest book boyfriend and this wine buzz I have goingon.
After getting ready for bed I am snug and settled, devouring the filthy words on the screen with the enthusiasm of someone who has clearly not enjoyed any sexy times in a ridiculously long while. As my eyes eat up the words, my hand unconsciously smooths its way down my body, seeking relief from the tension pulsing in my core. As my fingers slide through the wetness, I groan softly. Grazing my clit lightly, a shiver escapes me. I am so worked up it’s only a matter of minutes before my teasing fingertips have worked their magic and I am moaning myrelease.
I sigh as I roll over thinking how too many of my nights are ending this way. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to have an actual guy touch me, and frankly, I’m ready to give myself the “it’s not you, it’s me speech”. I think about the advice my best friend Cassidy gave me the other day; online dating. I mean there’s no shame in it these days, right? We’re all busy, it’s a perfectly respectable way to meet people. And it works. I’ve seen the testimonials and surely, they wouldn’t lie.Right?
While I still retain a bit of liquid courage, courtesy of all the wine I drank tonight, I grab my phone and google “most successful dating sites”. It would seem Happily Ever After is the site of choice for all the despera... I mean, hopeful singles out there. I stifle a laugh at the name. I’m not looking for a happily ever after. Just a happily ever orgasm. So, before I lose my nerve I pull up the website and click on the ‘create an account’ button. Ten minutes later, I have completed my profile and set it loose into the online dating world. My smiling face gazes out at me from the phone screen and I can’t help looking at myself with pity. A sense of dread settles in my stomach as I send out a silent prayer to the dick-pic gods. Please no delfies. Or, you know, at least make them dicks worthy of my admiration. Oh god, what have Idone?
BEEEEEP.
I sigh quietly as I reach to open the microwave and pull out the dinner for one as Cassidy continues her rant in my ear. “Seriously, Skye, I’m not sure how much longer I can stay there. The work is boring as fuck and the people are even worse! How can I be expected to work under those conditions? I’m not getting any sleep at night because I’m falling asleep out of boredom everyday!”
I try to hold in a giggle as I listen to Cassidy complain about her job in office administration. Unfortunately, the result is an unattractive snort-giggle that alerts her to my mirth. “Well, I’m glad you find my pain so funny, loser!” she shrieks, and I can feel her glowering through the phone, which causes me to lose any pretence and I burst outlaughing.
“It’s work, Cass, it’s not supposed to be fun. It’s just the eight hours we have to get through every day to get to the funstuff.”
“Speaking of the fun stuff, you wanna go out tonight? Cocktails and tapas?” The change in Cassidy’s voice is immediate and if I didn’t know her so well, would be slightly disconcerting. But after ten years of friendship I am used to her swift mood changes and at times like this, I am grateful for them. Her work diatribes are becoming a dailyoccurrence.
“I would but I’ve got myself a hot date tonight. Ben and I agreed to chat at 8 o’clock.” I listen as Cassidy whoops loudly on the other end of the phone, mumbles something about sexting and starts to sing “bow chika wowwow.”
I roll my eyes at her outburst but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Cass is my opposite in every way. The yin to my yang, the Scary Spice to my Baby Spice. She is the dark to my light and I couldn’t imagine my life without her. She has also seen me despair over the long list of less than desirable men that have replied to my online profile, and encouraged me to persevere. Cassidy claimed the answer to my sex drought was only a click away, and don’t think she didn’t proclaim her triumph loudly when Ben Mackinnon appeared in my Happily Ever After mailbox. Sexy as hell and, if his messages are anything to go by, sweet, smart and funny; he ticked all my boxes and then some. And I’m not going to lie; the fact that he didn’t send me a dick pic within the first ten minutes had definitely worked in hisfavor.
“Okay, okay, okay, enough!” I laugh as I cut Cassidy off mid-chika. “I have fifteen minutes to scarf down this meal before it’s B-time so I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,okay?”
“B-time? Really? I sincerely worry about your cool cred sometimes, you nerd. But that’s a topic for another day. Later, Skyballs, and remember, two hands on your phone at all times, younglady!”
I groan as Cassidy hangs up on me and I place my phone on the kitchen counter. Tucking a strand of my long brown hair behind my ear, I pick up my fork and dig into my lean cuisine. After a quick glance at the clock I see it’s ten minutes to eight, and feel the butterflies start. Truth be told, I’m completely out of practice with this whole dating thing. My list of exes did nothing to change my mind and convince me that a happily ever after was in my future, and I had forgotten about this complex mix of excitement and fear which left you unsure if you were giddy ornauseous!
Placing my dishes in the dishwasher, I move to the couch and settle in for what I hope will be a long chat. Because chatting to Ben has become the highlight of my day, and while I probably should, I feel absolutely no shame in admitting that. The last month talking to him has been fun and easy; I find myself almost craving the contact with him. He has tried to convince me to meet him in person a handful of times but I’ve resisted. There is safety in where we are now, in the protection that the phone screen affords me. I started this online thing to find someone to have fun with. Someone who can scratch my metaphorical itch anytime it tingles, but the longer I talk to Ben, the more I can see myself falling for him and I can’t let that happen. My head understands this but as my phone dings and my heart begins to pound, it’s clear that my heart might not be on the same page. Ugh, someone needs to give me a stern talking to. I am a twenty-eight-year-old grown woman, not a giddy, giggling preteen. Then again, I haven’t gotten laid in a while so I give myself apass.
BEN:You there,beautiful?
