Page 22 of The Girlfriend Game
Ten
Kendall
Weekends are my time to collect my thoughts, regroup, and rejuvenate.
After the week I had, my plans originally included a massage, hair appointment, and lunch with Kerry.
The lunch got postponed because she had to take my seven year-old nephew, Conrad, to the ER after he broke his arm jumping from the top of their backyard play set. Boys!
So now I have time to spend catching up on some reading, writing, and checking in on the new messages from Mountain Man.
When I find the message app empty with nothing from him since Thursday night, a sharp pang of loss hits my belly. I chastise myself for being stupid and acting like a love-sick girl. Logically, I know that there are plenty of reasons why he hasn’t been in correspondence with me since the night of our sexting. His week could have been just as busy as mine.
Although I still don’t know what he does for a living, nor does he know my profession, he has mentioned traveling frequently for his job. So he could very well be out of town on business or maybe even out of the country for all I know.
Or he could be catfishing me.
Going into this with eyes wide open after Kerry signed me up for the app, I accepted the real possibility that this entire online relationship-building could all be a pack of lies. This man—Mountain Man—or whatever his real name is, could all be a fake. He could be falsely portraying who he really is to me out of some sick thrill. He could be anyone. He could be married. He could be a sociopath or even a serial killer.
I shiver at the thought. Good Lord, my head goes to very dark places with the unknown.
There’s also the chance that a big part of this fantasy world has me craving it too much. Maybe I’m playing right into his trap. This could all be some perverse game for him. He got what he wanted out of me and he’s moved on already.
I laugh at loud at my vivid imagination. Watching too manyDatelinesandTo Catch a Killershows over the years has made me a ready-made skeptic. Or it could be from listening to my clients talk about the secret lives they’ve hid from their spouses. Far too many of those have sat in my office and explained to me why they crave affairs.
Disgusted with myself and the direction of my thoughts, I exit out of the app, and am about to set my phone down when it vibrates with an incoming call. Mom pops up on the display.
I answer with a smile. “Hello there, Mother.”
She responds with a chipper and familiar greeting. “Hello there, my beautiful daughter. Did I catch you at a good time?”
“You did, actually. I’m in the middle of doing absolutely nothing,” I reply with a snicker, stretching my legs out in front of me as I get comfortable in the lounge chair on my deck that overlooks a downtown park.
My mother, Andrea, if she could, would talk for hours on the phone. One of the biggest differences between my sister and me is that Kerry is like my mother in that respect. They could live with their ears glued to their phones. That is not me.
It has a lot to do with our personalities, of course. Kerry is far more extroverted, like my mother, and has the gift of gab, where I’m the closed-off introvert of the family, like my father, who listens and examines others for a living. I ask questions to gleam information from others and rarely do I find it interesting to talk about myself.
But today I feel like talking. My mom is my very own built-in counselor and advice giver who has been there for me through every major life decision, problem, and achievement.
“Oh, honey. That’s so wonderful to hear. You deserve some good old-fashioned downtime. You’re always working so hard and need to take some time for yourself. Speaking of which…” She lets the word dangle between us, and I have a strong feeling I know where it’s heading. “Your sister mentioned you’re seeing someone?”
I’m going to kill Kerry. I should’ve known she wouldn’t keep quiet about this.
I throw my arm over my head, my forearm covering my eyes as I hold the phone against my ear in the other hand. “No, Mother. That’s not technically accurate. I’m only talking to someone.”
She snicks over the phone. “Then I must be confused. Kerry said you’d met someone.”
“Well, Kerry embellished the truth.” I grunt, exasperated. “Because she’s the one who set this all up online initially, without my consent, I might add…”
“What? Online? Oh, good heavens.”
I can just visualize my mother fanning herself at the audacity of the situation. She hesitates before adding, “Well, I’m sure your sister only wants to see you happy.”
My mother always sides with my twin when it comes to my love life. As if I’m this lonely spinster with no life.
“Iamhappy, Mother. I’m perfectly content.” I suck in a lungful of air to keep my voice calm and keep myself from going off on the woman who is my rock. I focus my attention down at my feet, wiggling my toes that are in desperate need of a summer pedicure. “Anyway, Kerry set me up on this dating app that’s supposed to create meaningful connections by keeping your identity and appearance hidden until a connection has been made. And I have met a man I’ve been chatting with recently, but I think it may have run its course.”
My mother’s tone turns into that mixture of empathetic and consoling, perhaps even bordering on patronizing. “Oh, honey. I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Maybe if you tried to…well, you don’t have to wait for him. You can reach out, too…”
