Page 14 of Just for Fun
The next two messages are about the same, just a little ruder. And finally, the fifth email tells me that I must be off my rocker, whatever that means.
Sadness hits me out of nowhere. I did not expect for my messages to these men to be so ill received. I had a plan, and I had come up with these questionnaires so they would help me keep a clear head as I made my selection. But since neither one of the candidates responded in a positive way, I am left with having to start from scratch.
In a way, I kind of want to give up on this. Owen already thinks I won’t be able to find a date, so it’s not like I’d be disappointing him or anything. But I sure wish I could surprise him.
As I lean back in my chair, my eyes fall on the screen, realizing I have one message that’s still unread. Maybe one of the guys who responded so rudely felt bad about it after and sent me another message.
I click on the message, confused beyond measure when I realize that this message is not from any of the guys I initially contacted. His name is Kyle Kelly, and I click on it, which takes me to the page of his profile.
At first, I am taken aback by his picture. He looks nothing like anyone I would see myself with, even for a transactionaldate. I am normally attracted to guys who are serious and put together. The man in this picture is the opposite of everything I believe in. His hair is longer and a bit curly, messy all over. He has bright blue eyes that sparkle with mischief. And to top it all off, he’s wearing a wrinkled T-shirt that’s seen better days.
All that to say that I am instantly attracted to his carefree air. He seems to be the type of person who truly enjoys life to the fullest. I am completely and absolutely discombobulated by the image he presents.
I go back to the page with the inbox and click on the message he sent to me. My eyes widen in surprise when I start putting together the words on my screen.
Hey there, he starts.My name is Kyle, and you are exactly the type of girl I am looking for. I will be attending a wedding soon, and my friends gave me very strict instructions on the type of woman I am allowed to bring as my plus one. See, I like to party a lot, so all the women I know are party girls through and through. From the serious picture you posted on here, I am convinced that I would make a good impression at their wedding. I see that you’re looking for a date for a Fourth of July party. I am totally your man for that. Parties are my specialty, and you won’t regret it should you give me a chance and come with me to this wedding.
Thanks a lot for your consideration.
Kyle
I finish reading, but I’m not sure I understand what he’s saying. I think he just called me boring without actually using the word. I don’t know if I should be offended by that despite the fact that I am well aware that I am not exactly the life of any party.
For a split second, I have this urge to delete his message before going back to sorting through the endless pages of possible candidates. Then, I remember how painful of a processthe first time around was, not to mention the humiliating tone of the responses I got from the men who looked like a perfect fit, at least at a first glance.
With that said, I can’t just accept his offer without doing my due diligence. So, I hit Reply and attach the questionnaire the others found offensive. I need to know how Kyle would respond to it. I am well aware that it could also backfire and leave me with zero options. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do this. I type in a short message and hit Send before I can change my mind.
My cell phone starts ringing as soon as I do that, causing me to jump in my seat. That reminds me about my bag still sitting on the floor. I snatch it up and dig for my phone. A small smile forms on my lips when I see it’s my mother calling.
“Zara,” she says in her always cheerful tone. “How are you, my girl?”
I stare at my computer, wondering if I should tell her about this conundrum I found myself in.
“Busy,” I tell her instead. I’ve never been good at talking about my personal life. The few times I got asked out when I was in high school, I was embarrassed for anyone to find out, and I’d just have my dates meet me somewhere where we couldn’t run into either my mother or my brother.
“Busy is good,” my mother declares. “It means you’re not holed up in your little apartment. I’m glad you’re out and about.”
A soft chuckle escapes me. “Who said anything about me being out and about?”
“Oh…” She now sounds taken aback. “What are you busy doing then?”
I frown as I try to come up with something exciting that she would be proud of me for doing. Maybe I should’ve just let her believe that I wasout and about, as she put it.
“Uh, just work.” I clear my throat a couple of times. “Things like that.”
“I see.” And now she sounds disappointed. That reminds me that I am the one who should be disappointed in her.
“Owen told me you don’t want us home for the holiday.” I go straight for the jugular because I got nothing to lose.
“What?” She actually laughs. “Why would he say that I don’twantyou here?”
“He said you have plans with your friends.”
There’s sadness and just a bit of bitterness in my tone. I feel instantly bad about it. After all, she should be able to have a life outside her children, especially after all the sacrifices she made for us throughout the years.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh into the phone. “I had plans to drive back home, and now I’m confused about what I am supposed to do that weekend.”
Mom makes a small sound of understanding. “Owen told me you two are going to a party.”
