Page 1 of Indiana Idealist
1
CAMILLE
Iwasn’t chosen as the best match for this month’s bachelor––again. That’s the tenth time in a row that I’ve been passed over for someone else. When this group started almost a year ago, I was convinced that the Man of the Month Club matchmaking meeting was going to be my ticket to everlasting love and happiness with my soulmate.
Each month, another happy couple is paired, and without fail, they magically fall in love.
At the beginning of the next month, I get all gussied up and sit at the table of hopeful women with my fingers crossed, but each time, someone else is selected as the best match for that month’s bachelor.
I understand the concept of paying my dues and waiting my turn. Plus, I want to be paired with the man that will give me the best chance of being in a satisfying and enduring, long-term relationship. But this is starting to get ridiculous.
How is it possible that I’m no one’s best match?Not to sound conceited, but I’m kind of a catch. I’m smart and successful. I can hold my own on the golf course with anyone. I make a mean dirty martini. I practice yoga three times a week. I have stylists who make sure my hair, makeup, and clothing are all on point. Oh, and I give one helluva blow job––not that anyone’s stuck around long enough lately to find out about that particular skill.
It really doesn’t make sense. It’s not like I’m a bridge troll. In fact, I have a lot to offer. I’m not sure why no one seems to be able to see that.
Deciding that I need to put some good karma out into the world, I call my childhood friend, Graham, and ask him to be the man of the month at our group’s next meeting. There has never been anything more than friendship brewing between the two of us, so I know that we won’t be paired, but I hope that bringing the handsome and charming small-town inn owner to the group for someone else will be the good deed that sets me on the path to finding my own true love.
Graham sounds happy to hear from me, but explains that he can’t be this month’s bachelor because he is madly in love with a badass female firefighter. I’m delighted by the happiness evident in my lifelong friend’s tone.
He shocks me by asking, “Did you hear that my place burned to the ground?”
“What?!? No. Was anyone hurt? Are you okay? What can I do to help?” The questions rush out of me in a flurry as I struggle to process this horrific news.
Every time I’ve spoken to Graham since he moved to Illinois, he has told me about the work he puts into every detail of his quaint inn. That place was obviously his pride and joy. I can’t believe it’s gone.
I plop down on the sofa and stare at the plush carpet as I try to figure out what I can say to comfort my friend. He must be absolutely distraught.
Graham stuns me again by chuckling at my barrage of questions.Yes, chuckling.
The strange outburst makes me wonder if the fire has sent him over the edge. It can’t be easy to stay sane when facing losing your home, business, and livelihood in one fell swoop.
“I appreciate your concern, but it will all work out,” he says in a calm voice.
He’s far too relaxed about this. Perhaps the full reality of the situation hasn’t settled into his mind yet.
It hits me, then, what I can do to help him. “How about if I send you some cash to help tide you over until you get back on your feet?”
Money is the one thing I have plenty of that everyone can use in a time of crisis.
Graham sounds touched as he says, “That’s really sweet of you to offer, Camille, but I’m going to be fine. I have enough money saved to get by for a while, and Gavin is giving me the proceeds from last night’s concert to help me rebuild.”
“Oh, wow, that’s great,” I say. “I just wish there was something I could do to help.”
“No need,” Graham says jovially. “I have everything a man could want.”
I can tell by the delight in his tone that he is referencing his new love. It hits me, then, that this is exactly what I crave––the kind of love where you can lose everything and still feel like you have it all.
A scratching noise at my front door draws my attention. I can’t help but smile as I wonder if divine timing has delivered my true love to my doorstep.
Excited, I fling the door open wide. At first, I don’t see anything, but then my gaze travels downward.
I say into my phone, “I gotta go, Graham. There’s a pig at my door.”
He asks in a bewildered tone, “A pig?!?”
But I’m already punching the button to hang up and stooping to greet my unconventional visitor. The meticulously clean animal is obviously well cared for. She proves herself to be friendly by waddling forward and flopping over, silently demanding a belly rub.
Unable to resist, I scratch her soft belly. When I notice her red, bejeweled collar and name tag, I inspect it before saying, “Well, hello there, Charlotte.”
