Page 8 of To Feel Like This Again
Lisa
After the event, I go straight to my room, take a cold shower (in January of all months) and jump into bed with my iPad to finish readingThe Love Thigh-Angle.It’s a romance novel set in the Caribbean. I’m a sucker for love.As I scroll down, gearing up for the best part where I think Andrew willfinallyget to kiss Katherine, my phone chimes.
Nicholas Thomas has sent a connection request [LinkedIn].
I feel a twinge of excitement (to put it mildly). Then, I begin to overthink.I’m not sure why I’m overthinking the request. After all, he’s a colleague with a promising future and looking to expand his professional network. No big deal, right? I accept the invitation and connect with him, just like the other five thousand professionals on my network.
The profile photo isnice. It’s captured in a modern office space with natural light coming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the backdrop is a perfect blend of trees and houses. In the distance, mountains. Must be the Blue Mountains, I muse to myself. How I’d love to visit it one day.
Wow, he has a really nice smile.
He’s seated at a white, U-shape desk in front of a MacBook Pro, a few pens scattered in a holder and a plant(seems to be a native one as I’ve never seen it before) in the corner. Everything is perfectly staged except for his shirt. The sleeves are rolled up with no uniform pattern, one side seemingly longer than the other, although I can’t be sure because he’s sitting with fingers intertwined, elbows on the desk. I smile to myself; he isn’t even wearing a suit to impress his connections on LinkedIn. On his wrist is a sporty watch band for his Samsung smart watch.
I like how confident he looks — not interested in putting on a show.
I go back toThe Love Thigh-Angle, even more eager to get to the part — and live, even temporarily, in a fantasy world — where Andrew finallygetsKatherine. Romantic novels can be so predictable at times, but I still love the build-up, the anticipation and visualizing the romantic moments, especially the first kiss. So, I begin to speed read. Almost there… Katherine arrives at Andrew’s family ranch to get her first horse-riding lesson. Yas!
My phone chimes again. Another notification. This time, Instagram.
Follow request:
Nicholas (@nickyaad876) has requested to follow you.
I stare at the screen for what feels like eternity before it automatically times out. Sitting up, my back against the headboard, I pull the sheet up to my waist. Unconsciously, my fingers twist a few out-of-place strands of hair, tucking them behind my ear. Inhaling, I unlock the phone with my thumb print and then click on the notification that would lead me toFollow requests: Confirm or Delete.
His profile picture piques my curiosity, so I click on it. His account is private, so only a compressed version of the picture can be seen. I see enough though and want to see more. He isshirtless at the beach, a Rottweiler beside him, both looking into the light blue ocean. His back is to the camera, and he is ripped from his shoulder to his triceps to his calves. I take a screenshot of the page and zoom in.Get it together, Lisa. He could be your son.
Interestingly, he has only 374 followers, posting a mere 34 times. Not a very active user, unlike most millennials, especially the ones doing well in life. It is even more telling that he follows 74 accounts. By all indications, heonlyfollows people he knows. So, why is he sendingmea friend request?
Getting out of bed, my phone face up on the mattress, I pull back the curtain, open the door and step onto the balcony. It feels like 77°F — the gentle wind blowing against my face helps to calm me down. To think. I sit on the chair and replay our conversation,over and over. And over and over again.
It’s been close to forty years since I’ve had this feeling. This knot in my stomach. And I reminisce about that night in the library, the day before Thanksgiving. And then out of nowhere I feel a rush of excitement, stop overthinking and, stepping back into the room, pick up the phone, unlock it and clickconfirm.
Sitting on the edge of the bed with the phone in my hand, I stare at the screen. Then, tossing it on the bed, I fall backwards on the sheets. With a sharp intake of breath, I cover my face with my hands before raking my fingers through my hair. For the umpteenth time I revisit our conversation, remembering every little detail. Standing, I take another sharp breath and hitFollow back.
No turning back now.
Unable to keep still, I nervously pace up and down the room. As my heartbeat quickens, I’m taken back to when I had paced up and down my office the morning before the stock market opened, after boldly advising investors and analysts during the Q&A session on an earnings call the day before,that the company would be doubling the salaries of all non-managers.
Three minutes later, but feeling like a lot longer, my phone buzzes.
Follow request accepted.
Nicholas (@nickyaad876) accepted your follow request.
I feel relieved, similar to when the market had responded positively to the news. And now, like then, I need to unwind with a glass of wine. Putting on a tank top and jeans, I walk downstairs to the hotel bar.
Sitting at a table in the corner, the darkest area in the room, I order a glass of chardonnay. After two sips, and four fake smiles (and counting) to older men who pass my table, I open Instagram, search for @nickyaad876 and check out his page.
Wow! I smile, looking at the philanthropic photos.
Wow! I smile, looking at the doggy photos.
Wow! I smile, looking at his shirtless beach pictures.
No picture of a girlfriend.
Chapter 6
