RunAWay Love © 2009
by Cat Meyers
Successful business excutive Cassandra Adams was 35 years old when she ran away from home.
She didn't plan to run away. It started out as little get-away. A spur of the moment trip with a blast from her past. Just for a fun. What you should know about Cassandra is that she doesn't do "spur of the moment" and she definitely doesn't do fun--well, at least she hasn't for a very long time. Even Cassandra had to admit that this impulsive trip was out of character for her. Yet the longer she stays away, the more she realizes she has missing out on so much. Hiding behind her fortress of long hours, schedules and rules, shielded her from joy and fulfillment and...love. Ah, sweet love! It was love that finally lured out from behind her fortress. Will love drive her back into hiding?
She didn't plan to run away. It started out as little get-away. A spur of the moment trip with a blast from her past. Just for a fun. What you should know about Cassandra is that she doesn't do "spur of the moment" and she definitely doesn't do fun--well, at least she hasn't for a very long time. Even Cassandra had to admit that this impulsive trip was out of character for her. Yet the longer she stays away, the more she realizes she has missing out on so much. Hiding behind her fortress of long hours, schedules and rules, shielded her from joy and fulfillment and...love. Ah, sweet love! It was love that finally lured out from behind her fortress. Will love drive her back into hiding?
Sample Chapter
Prologue
The thunderous pounding she heard must have been the door. It certainly wasn’t her heart –surely that had died three days ago. And it couldn’t have been the throbbing temples from her massive hang over. She didn’t even have a hang over. She was numb enough as it was. Alcohol would have only made her nauseous. What was that pounding? Make it stop. Please, God make it stop! All she wanted to do was sleep. Keep her eyes closed and disappear. Fade away. But the pounding was making that impossible. It was a blatant reminder that she could hear, that she could feel and was, therefore, still alive. She didn’t know what that pounding was, but she did know that voice: “Enough is enough, Cassandra Adams. Now open this door or I’m calling the police!”
“Okay. Okay.” Cassie heard her mouth say. She didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice. Possibly because her throat was so dry from all of the wailing and moaning she had done over the past few days. Possibly because all of her hopes and dreams had been sucked out of her. Possibly because her face was still buried in the sofa. Cassie peeled her face from the beige leather cushion and sat up. The clock read 2:12 in the afternoon, but the gloom of the room made it seem like midnight, curtains pulled tight blocking out any trace of sunlight and cheer.
“I mean it, Cassandra. I’ve got my phone out. I will dial 911.”
“I’m coming!” Cassie whined, like a twelve year old being dragged off to church.
With each step she retraced the tracks of her tears that led her to the couch that day. Bare feet stepping gingerly on ivory colored invitations with ornate silver script. Bare feet striding over the white cardboard box strewn on the floor, which once held her veil. Bare feet stopping at the door where a two carat ring lay discarded, no longer the source of envy but of humiliation. Cassie took in a deep breath, braced herself and opened the door. The look on her mother’s face said it all: My daughter, the walking zombie.
Cassie didn’t say a word. She turned and trudged back to the comfort and security of her sofa. Darlene followed with quiet footsteps. As she walked, she studied her little girl. She almost looked like a little girl—a pathetic little girl—but a girl none the less. Frazzled hair, barely held together in a ponytail. Baggy, University of Pennsylvania gym shorts drooping off of her backside, and a tiny a white tank hanging off of one shoulder.
Cassie wrapped herself in her comforter and plopped back on to the couch. Darlene cleared off a space on the loveseat. When she sat, she crossed her legs and leaned her body away from Cassie, as if she was infected with an incurable disease --bad relationship-itus. Well, f I am infected, I got it from you. Cassie thought.
“So, how are you?” Darlene asked, cheerfully, after a moment of silence.
Cassie shrugged, then fumbled with her French manicured finger tips.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Cassie rolled her eyes and said smugly, “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about going over to the salon and getting a mani-pedi.”
Darlene’s face instantly became flushed. “Don’t sass me, young lady. This is not my fault.”
It absolutely was her fault, Cassie thought. Darlene was the one had who filled her head with all that junk. Made her believe in lies. Read bedtime stories to her, since before Cassie could speak. Stories of handsome princes, riding in on pretty white horses, to carry fair maidens off to their happily-ever-afters. Darlene was directly responsible for feeding Cassie a steady diet of the “Find your Mr. Right and all your problems will be solved” doctrine. Sure it was irrational thinking, but Cassie wasn’t interesting in being rational at the moment. But beyond that, she wasn’t interested in anymore drama either. She didn’t want to pick a fight with her mother. She would listen to Darlene, let her pretend to be the devoted mother for a couple of hours and then sink back into the beautiful misery she had found nestled deep with in the cushions of that old leather couch.
“No. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, yet.”
“It’s okay. No rush. It’s just, the caterer called and wanted to--”
“Mom. Please. Not now.
Darlene raised her hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to push,” she said in her high-pitched “I’m not trying to be a bother” voice. She folded her hands and sat quietly, not sure of what to say now. Darlene looked around the room and resisted the urge to clean it. The place looked like a tornado had just blown through. A large white sack lay at the base of the sofa. She looked closer. That was no sack.
“Is that your…” Darlene gasped then scooped up the designer wedding gown and cradled it in her arms like a wounded soldier. The dress they had hired some big name designer from Los Angeles to create. The dress they had both wept over when they first saw Cassie wearing it. “This is a $20,000 dress. You can’t just throw it on the floor like an old sweat sock.”
“It’s not like I’ll be needing it.”
Darlene lowered herself back into the seat and said grimly, “So you have made your decision.”
“What choice do I have?”
“He’s not the first man to cheat, Cassandra.” Darlene pulled the bulk of the gown on to her lap and began smoothing out its silk bodice. “I mean, if we all threw away a man because he was unfaithful, the world would be filled with a lot of lonely ladies.”
“True. Or maybe the world would finally be filled with men who learned to treat women with respect.” Cassie shot back.
“So, no room forgiveness? No allowances for mistakes in your perfect little world?”
“I’d hardly call lying to me, so he could spend all weekend in the bed with the Double Mint Twins, a mistake. It all seemed pretty deliberate in my book.”
That made Darlene pause. “He didn’t tell me they were twins,” she said, and stared off for a second as if visualizing the whole scene, then quickly shrugged it off. “Regardless, Scott is handsome, successful, well respected at his firm—prime husband material! You want to throw all that away because he has one tiny flaw? That’s like refusing to buy a Rolls Royce because it has one tiny smudge in the interior.”
Cassie threw back her comforter in a huff. “Excuse me, but if I’m shelling out all that money for a Rolls, there better not be any smudges on the interior! I think I’m entitled to at least that much.”
Darlene’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. She folded her arms, causing her bracelets to clink and clank against each other. “All right, Miss Holier Than Thou,” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? The thing Cassie had been wrestling with on the couch for the past three days. For two years her future had been set. Her future was Scott. Two weeks from Saturday they would’ve been married. Three weeks in the Greek Isles for their honeymoon then back home to their happily little life as husband and wife. Cassie would putz around in her dad’s company for a couple of years until she was ready to have a baby, then quit. She would spend the next couple of decades being a loving mother: Mommy and Me, den mother, PTA, football boosters, prom chaperone. Her life would be devoted to caring for husband and their three children (two boys and a girl). And if she ever got bored, she could always go back and work part-time in daddy’s company. But honestly, how could she ever be bored with a life like that? Then when the nest was empty, she would take up photography, travel the world with Scott and spoil her grandchildren rotten.
Three days ago, her life was set. Then she got the bright idea to make a surprise visit to her fiancé’s house. Ha! She was the one who left surprised. She was the one whose jaw dropped. She was whose head was spinning try to figure out which direction her life would now take.
Now standing in the shower—forced to take a shower by her mother—Cassie let the warm water permeate her brain, flushing out all memories of Scott. She could hear Darlene in the living room, ripping open the curtains. Cassie imagined the blinding white light of sunshine flooding the room. By the time Darlene finished, the room would be sparkling clean and lovely and beautiful, as if no darkness ever dared invade that space. Good riddance.
Meanwhile, Cassie shampooed, shaved and sugar scrubbed until her body tingled. Tingles of possibility. It dawned on her: The end of Scott meant the beginning of Cassandra. When she really, really, really thought about it, she did have something to be excited about. She had a chance to remake herself. Looking at the face staring back at her through the steamy bathroom mirror, she did not like what she saw. Everything about her, even down to her wet blond lochs, screamed Scott (she was naturally a brunette, but Scott loved blondes, so she dyed it). Ridiculous. She might as well have had “Scott’s Girl” tattooed on her forehead. Never again would she allow a man to exert that much influence in her life. She would be her own person. Chart her own destiny. And if a man wanted to tag along for the ride, he would have to be the one to dye his hair blonde –or something like that. Bottom line, no more fairy tales. She would write her own happy ending.
A knock at the door. Before Cassie could answer, Darlene stuck her head inside and, in hushed tone, announced, “Um…Honey? Scott’s at the door.”
Damn!
The thunderous pounding she heard must have been the door. It certainly wasn’t her heart –surely that had died three days ago. And it couldn’t have been the throbbing temples from her massive hang over. She didn’t even have a hang over. She was numb enough as it was. Alcohol would have only made her nauseous. What was that pounding? Make it stop. Please, God make it stop! All she wanted to do was sleep. Keep her eyes closed and disappear. Fade away. But the pounding was making that impossible. It was a blatant reminder that she could hear, that she could feel and was, therefore, still alive. She didn’t know what that pounding was, but she did know that voice: “Enough is enough, Cassandra Adams. Now open this door or I’m calling the police!”
“Okay. Okay.” Cassie heard her mouth say. She didn’t even recognize the sound of her own voice. Possibly because her throat was so dry from all of the wailing and moaning she had done over the past few days. Possibly because all of her hopes and dreams had been sucked out of her. Possibly because her face was still buried in the sofa. Cassie peeled her face from the beige leather cushion and sat up. The clock read 2:12 in the afternoon, but the gloom of the room made it seem like midnight, curtains pulled tight blocking out any trace of sunlight and cheer.
“I mean it, Cassandra. I’ve got my phone out. I will dial 911.”
“I’m coming!” Cassie whined, like a twelve year old being dragged off to church.
With each step she retraced the tracks of her tears that led her to the couch that day. Bare feet stepping gingerly on ivory colored invitations with ornate silver script. Bare feet striding over the white cardboard box strewn on the floor, which once held her veil. Bare feet stopping at the door where a two carat ring lay discarded, no longer the source of envy but of humiliation. Cassie took in a deep breath, braced herself and opened the door. The look on her mother’s face said it all: My daughter, the walking zombie.
Cassie didn’t say a word. She turned and trudged back to the comfort and security of her sofa. Darlene followed with quiet footsteps. As she walked, she studied her little girl. She almost looked like a little girl—a pathetic little girl—but a girl none the less. Frazzled hair, barely held together in a ponytail. Baggy, University of Pennsylvania gym shorts drooping off of her backside, and a tiny a white tank hanging off of one shoulder.
Cassie wrapped herself in her comforter and plopped back on to the couch. Darlene cleared off a space on the loveseat. When she sat, she crossed her legs and leaned her body away from Cassie, as if she was infected with an incurable disease --bad relationship-itus. Well, f I am infected, I got it from you. Cassie thought.
“So, how are you?” Darlene asked, cheerfully, after a moment of silence.
Cassie shrugged, then fumbled with her French manicured finger tips.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
Cassie rolled her eyes and said smugly, “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking about going over to the salon and getting a mani-pedi.”
Darlene’s face instantly became flushed. “Don’t sass me, young lady. This is not my fault.”
It absolutely was her fault, Cassie thought. Darlene was the one had who filled her head with all that junk. Made her believe in lies. Read bedtime stories to her, since before Cassie could speak. Stories of handsome princes, riding in on pretty white horses, to carry fair maidens off to their happily-ever-afters. Darlene was directly responsible for feeding Cassie a steady diet of the “Find your Mr. Right and all your problems will be solved” doctrine. Sure it was irrational thinking, but Cassie wasn’t interesting in being rational at the moment. But beyond that, she wasn’t interested in anymore drama either. She didn’t want to pick a fight with her mother. She would listen to Darlene, let her pretend to be the devoted mother for a couple of hours and then sink back into the beautiful misery she had found nestled deep with in the cushions of that old leather couch.
“No. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, yet.”
“It’s okay. No rush. It’s just, the caterer called and wanted to--”
“Mom. Please. Not now.
Darlene raised her hands in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to push,” she said in her high-pitched “I’m not trying to be a bother” voice. She folded her hands and sat quietly, not sure of what to say now. Darlene looked around the room and resisted the urge to clean it. The place looked like a tornado had just blown through. A large white sack lay at the base of the sofa. She looked closer. That was no sack.
“Is that your…” Darlene gasped then scooped up the designer wedding gown and cradled it in her arms like a wounded soldier. The dress they had hired some big name designer from Los Angeles to create. The dress they had both wept over when they first saw Cassie wearing it. “This is a $20,000 dress. You can’t just throw it on the floor like an old sweat sock.”
“It’s not like I’ll be needing it.”
Darlene lowered herself back into the seat and said grimly, “So you have made your decision.”
“What choice do I have?”
“He’s not the first man to cheat, Cassandra.” Darlene pulled the bulk of the gown on to her lap and began smoothing out its silk bodice. “I mean, if we all threw away a man because he was unfaithful, the world would be filled with a lot of lonely ladies.”
“True. Or maybe the world would finally be filled with men who learned to treat women with respect.” Cassie shot back.
“So, no room forgiveness? No allowances for mistakes in your perfect little world?”
“I’d hardly call lying to me, so he could spend all weekend in the bed with the Double Mint Twins, a mistake. It all seemed pretty deliberate in my book.”
That made Darlene pause. “He didn’t tell me they were twins,” she said, and stared off for a second as if visualizing the whole scene, then quickly shrugged it off. “Regardless, Scott is handsome, successful, well respected at his firm—prime husband material! You want to throw all that away because he has one tiny flaw? That’s like refusing to buy a Rolls Royce because it has one tiny smudge in the interior.”
Cassie threw back her comforter in a huff. “Excuse me, but if I’m shelling out all that money for a Rolls, there better not be any smudges on the interior! I think I’m entitled to at least that much.”
Darlene’s eyes narrowed on her daughter. She folded her arms, causing her bracelets to clink and clank against each other. “All right, Miss Holier Than Thou,” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? The thing Cassie had been wrestling with on the couch for the past three days. For two years her future had been set. Her future was Scott. Two weeks from Saturday they would’ve been married. Three weeks in the Greek Isles for their honeymoon then back home to their happily little life as husband and wife. Cassie would putz around in her dad’s company for a couple of years until she was ready to have a baby, then quit. She would spend the next couple of decades being a loving mother: Mommy and Me, den mother, PTA, football boosters, prom chaperone. Her life would be devoted to caring for husband and their three children (two boys and a girl). And if she ever got bored, she could always go back and work part-time in daddy’s company. But honestly, how could she ever be bored with a life like that? Then when the nest was empty, she would take up photography, travel the world with Scott and spoil her grandchildren rotten.
Three days ago, her life was set. Then she got the bright idea to make a surprise visit to her fiancé’s house. Ha! She was the one who left surprised. She was the one whose jaw dropped. She was whose head was spinning try to figure out which direction her life would now take.
Now standing in the shower—forced to take a shower by her mother—Cassie let the warm water permeate her brain, flushing out all memories of Scott. She could hear Darlene in the living room, ripping open the curtains. Cassie imagined the blinding white light of sunshine flooding the room. By the time Darlene finished, the room would be sparkling clean and lovely and beautiful, as if no darkness ever dared invade that space. Good riddance.
Meanwhile, Cassie shampooed, shaved and sugar scrubbed until her body tingled. Tingles of possibility. It dawned on her: The end of Scott meant the beginning of Cassandra. When she really, really, really thought about it, she did have something to be excited about. She had a chance to remake herself. Looking at the face staring back at her through the steamy bathroom mirror, she did not like what she saw. Everything about her, even down to her wet blond lochs, screamed Scott (she was naturally a brunette, but Scott loved blondes, so she dyed it). Ridiculous. She might as well have had “Scott’s Girl” tattooed on her forehead. Never again would she allow a man to exert that much influence in her life. She would be her own person. Chart her own destiny. And if a man wanted to tag along for the ride, he would have to be the one to dye his hair blonde –or something like that. Bottom line, no more fairy tales. She would write her own happy ending.
A knock at the door. Before Cassie could answer, Darlene stuck her head inside and, in hushed tone, announced, “Um…Honey? Scott’s at the door.”
Damn!
About Runaway Love
Glam shot!
This was the first novel that I ever wrote; and in many ways it has been my labor of love. It so embodies my own fears and longings about love that I felt it too personal to share (though none of the events in the book reflect anything that ever happened in my life). Yet, I find myself coming back to this book and getting lost in it all over again. Over the years it has grown and evolved, as I have grown and evolved. Last year, I began to think maybe there is someone out there who can relate to Cassandra like I do. Someone who desires love and fears it all at once. If so, this book is for you.
But it does need some polishing. Over the next few months I will be posting other chapters, photos and other inspirations as I work to clean up RunAway Love and make it shine for you. So check back from time to time and see where I am. Feel free to share your thoughts as well on the book as you follow me on this journey. I've set a target date of December 2015 for the release, which is my birth month. What a fitting way to celebrate my birthday, sharing a story that I love so much with the rest of the world. -Cat
But it does need some polishing. Over the next few months I will be posting other chapters, photos and other inspirations as I work to clean up RunAway Love and make it shine for you. So check back from time to time and see where I am. Feel free to share your thoughts as well on the book as you follow me on this journey. I've set a target date of December 2015 for the release, which is my birth month. What a fitting way to celebrate my birthday, sharing a story that I love so much with the rest of the world. -Cat
An Excerpt From: Fear of Falling ...And Falling Again
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I know most people would simply go to the virtual pet store, order up a pet, and boom! An hour later, they’re a pet owner. If I’m going to find a four-legged friend to cuddle up with and keep me company until Gen-Mate decides to be kind to me, I feel like this is a decision I need to make in person. I may have decided to leave my future spouse in the hands of science, but my choice in pets will be based on good ol’ fashion instinct. At least I can still have control in some areas of my life.
I choose an orange and white Calico cat. I know Ma told me to get a dog—she was only half kidding. But I certainly don’t want some furry monster drooling all over me and my pretty tiled floors. As soon as I see her, there is an instant connection. The way she looks at me with those piercing green eyes, like she’s saying: I don’t know why you keep walking by me. You know you want to pick me up. And so, I do. I pick her up and she curls up into my arms, purring for me the most beautiful melody. Sold!!! I call her Love. Yes, it’s kind of sappy, but this whole Gen-Mate drama has me in an emotionally fragile state. I can see it now. I come home and Love greets me at the door. I’m having a bad day and Love cuddles up on the couch with me. I’ll never eat dinner alone again, because Love will dine with me every day. Man, was I wrong! Love hates me. I come home after a long day at work, Love runs the other way. I sit on the couch and wait for her to cuddle with me, she walks right by me, to the other side of the room, and stares out the window. I’ve tried six different brands of food—really expensive food—and she turns up her nose every time. As she struts away, she let out a tiny meow, as if to say, “somebody get meowt of this place!” What happened to the sweet, little ball of lovin’ that wooed me at the animal shelter? I’m starting to feel like I’ve been set up. Like my girl Love took some advice from her shelter friends. “Listen, you wanna get out of here, girl?” one of the other cats probably said. I bet it was that smokey gray one with the two different colored eyes. “Here’s whatcha do. Find a mark. Preferably a lonely woman. Give her ‘the look.’ And when she picks you up, lay it on real thick. Rub up against her and purr real sweet. You’ll have her eating out of the palm of your paws.” And Smokey was right. Here I am, giving it my all—all my heart and my money. Desperate for just one minute of Lady Love’s time and attention. In return, all I get is her furry cold shoulder. “Why did you get a female?” Aries says to me, as we’re on the way to the vet. Things are so bad between me and Love, I decide to get her checked out. To see if there’s actually a heart in there. “Females are the worst. They’re so cold and aloof.” “I swear she wasn’t like that in the shelter. She was all warm and affectionate.” “Was she really warm and affectionate, Annie? Or did you just see what you wanted to see?” At this point, I’m not so sure. Because I’ve seen no trace of the love in Love since the shelter. The vet says she’s okay. A perfectly healthy, cold and aloof European Short Hair cat. “Why didn’t you get a dog?” says my mother. After I drop off Aries, I pop in to check on her. She had gone off the grid again, plotting her next move in the Tech the Halls campaign. She would have been furious at the idea of me checking up on her, so I come under the guise of introducing her to my new cat. Not surprisingly, Love takes to Nova like a long-lost friend. Love curls up on my mother’s lap and purrs so loud, I can barely hear my mother say, “I told you to get a dog.” “Seriously, Ma, do you really see me as a dog person?” “No, but I don’t see you as a cat person, either.” She strokes Love in long deep strokes from her ears all the way down to her tail and the cat practically moans. I feel like yelling: Get a room, you two! Ma adds, “Maybe a fish. I see you more as a fish person.” “I had fish, remember? They died the day after I got them.” “Oh yeah! That’s right. Well, you’ve had Love for three weeks now and you haven’t killed her. So you’re doing something right.” “Ma!” I nearly burst into tears. “What? I’m sorry. I was kidding. You know I was kidding.” Then really I do burst into tears. Love can’t stand my weeping. She hops off Ma’s lap and disappears. I slide right into her place, plopping my head on my mommy’s lap. Now that her hands are free, she rubs my back. “What is it, honey?” I know she’s just kidding, but that’s just it. “This is serious for me, Ma. I’m hurting and you don’t even care.” She’s speechless. “I-I…What do you mean I don’t care? You’re my baby girl. Of course, I care. I just want you to be happy.” “So do I.” “You want to be happy, so you get a cat as a placeholder until you get a man. I never raised you to need a man for your happiness.” “I don’t need a man to—” “You don’t? From Grayson to the man-of-the-week on those dating feeds to now letting some computer pick your husband for you.” “I’ve got news for you, Ma. It’s the twenty-third century. Men are back in style. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means, unlike you, we like men again.” “Yeah, you like men. The problem is, you like any ol man. You let them pop in and out of your life—out of your bed, with no regard for what they’re all about? Their passions. Their future plans. How those plans fit with yours.” I pick my head up from her lap and just stare at her. “Are you seriously giving me advice on how to pick a husband?” She sighs. “Lord knows, I’m no expert. But even you have to admit, you’re getting off course here.” “What course? What does that even mean?” “It means, ever since your friends started getting married, you’ve put yourself into this competition to find a mate. It’s not about finding love. It’s about keeping up with the Lionesses.” “That’s crazy.” |
“No, that’s truth. The truth is, the child I raised has never been obsessed with finding a man. Never cried over not having a man—”
“I’ve cried! I’ve cried a lot. I just wouldn’t dare do it in front of you because you’d call me weak…or just make a joke about it, like you did today.” My mother knows me so well. She knows she’s pushed me close to my breaking point. She dials it back. Squeezing my hand, she says, “I know I can be tough on you…but it’s just because I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.” “I know.” “And I know you just want to be happy. But honestly, honey. The happiest I’ve ever seen you was when you were running your business and making—” I pull my hand away. I’ve heard this speech before and I wasn’t in the mood to hear it again. “I know you don’t want to hear it. But it’s true, Annora. You were doing it. You were doing your thing. Designing homes. Positioning yourself to build the dream building, the Emerald—” “The Diamond.” “That’s what I meant, the Diamond. The Diamond.” She lets out a little snicker. “I remember the first time showed it to me. In Cape May, remember?” “Of course I remember.” “You were seven years old and you sculpted it out of sand with your tiny, little hands…” Her eyes always get all dreamy when she remembers the ancient days when I was still moldable. “I said, ‘what’s that you’re making there, honey.’ And you said, ‘I’m making—”’ “Making the future, Mommy,” I say along with her. “You were missing your two front teeth and you looked so cute. So sure that you were going to make it happen.” She sighs and adds, “I hate that you let that Grayson rob you of your dream.” “He didn’t rob me of anything.” “You haven’t done the one thing you were passionate about since you broke up with him. I call that robbery,” as she says this, Love returns to her lap. It’s like they’re ganging up on me now. “No more lawsuits, no threat of bankruptcy, no more having my name dragged through the mud. I call it survival.” “You were made to do so much more than survive, Annora.” She looks so earnestly into my eyes, I want to look away. But I can’t. “Live. Live each day to the full. Love the people God has put in your path. Pursue your passion. Love will find you.” “Love may find me. With Gen-Mate, love is guaranteed to find me.” “There are no guarantees, Annora,” Ma replies. And Love has the nerve to meow in agreement. Love sleeps peacefully the whole ride back up to my skyrise. As soon as I walk inside, set her carrier down and flip open the latch, Love makes a break for it, disappearing up the stairs. I should’ve left her in the Bottoms with my mother. Those two couldn’t have been a better fit if Gen-Mate had matched them, personally. Speaking of Gen-Mate, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve checked my beta-mail. After my talk with Perrin, I figured it was probably best for my sanity—as Libra would say—if I took a little break from it. I had used my junk beta-mail for Gen-Mate, anyway, so it was no big deal to go weeks without checking it, unless I was looking for free porn or sexual performance injections, which for some reason always cluttered that beta-mail account. Three weeks should be enough time to be chosen by somebody. I hold my nose and wade through the all the junky beta-mails until I find it. The most recent message from Gen-Mate. I click on it. Nothing. Still no mate. I don’t understand this! Was this some cruel joke? Was someone trying to mess with my head? Who would hate me this much as to put me through this torment? I stumble into my bedroom before the waterworks start again. Love is sprawled out on my bed, preening herself like the Queen of Sheba. As soon as she sees me, she scatters. My mother raised me to be strong, but I feel myself breaking. Rejected by Gen-Mate. Rejected by Love. The Jones streak, or should I say the Jones curse, must have mutated with my generation, so that, not only do our marriages not last past ten years, my generation must have devolved into not getting married at all. I give up. It’s too hard. Too hard to keep my heart open like this. It’s not just about the three fruitless months on Gen-Mate. It’s the years invested in a lie with Grayson. And the seven-year void in between. I let it all out. In the privacy of my bedroom, in my luxury condo, I bawl my eyes out. Ugly tears. I sob into my pillow, near hyperventilation, certain that I’ll never stop, because it seems this pain has no end. I notice a strange sensation. Movement on my bed. A light furry ball resting in the space beside my armpit. I hear Love’s gentle purr. Purrrr…Purrrrr…Purrrr. A slow and easy cadence. It’s not long before my breathing slows down to match the rhythm of Love’s purr. I realize something about this little gift I brought home from the shelter. Love may be elusive. Love may be complicated. But when I really need her…Love is here for me. |