Number Theory by Rebecca Milton

Author:Rebecca Milton
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: romance, short story, love, romantic
Publisher: AmorBooks.com
Published: 2015-01-07T23:27:20.554118+00:00

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There is a danger in saying things like that. An even greater danger in believing things like that. If you say to someone, to make them feel better, to give them hope or simply just to shut their noise and stop their complaining, that there is someone for everyone, they may actually believe it. And once they believe it, they spend their lives waiting for it, looking for it. When it doesn’t come, when all around them they see others finding their “one” and yet they continue to go home alone, eat alone, sleep alone, drink alone... They can start to feel that there is something wrong with them.

Oh, who am I kidding, all this “they” and “them” and “their” just scratch that... replace it with me. I believed, for the longest time, that there was someone for everyone and that meant there was someone for me. I started to think I was owed this... this divine gift, this promised man. Moses, lead me to the promised man! The Lord has sent us these ten condoms, use them wisely.

I was angry that he wasn’t showing up. I was deeply disappointed when date after date turned into nothing. I was hanging all my expectations, all my future happiness, on each time a guy opened the door for me, or picked up a check. I compromised myself to appear better, more worthy, more... what? I don’t know. I do know that if I had half the orgasms I faked...

Well, the point being, I faked a lot because... Because I thought that would bring me the one. Because if I was responsive and easy to please in bed, I would find the one. Counterintuitive, sure. Desperate, sure. Pathetic and sad, sure. I freely admit all of that, but, what else could I do? I wanted my someone. I had completely given over my true self because somewhere at some point in my life, probably as a little girl, probably by a well-meaning family member or TV doctor, I was told there is someone for everyone and I drank that cup of Kool-Aid and waited for the results.

One October morning, broccoli and cheese omelet, side of bacon, cup of coffee... I stopped. I finally, fully, completely stopped. My dear friend, Karen, walked into the corner joint, the Windsor Diner, where I was having breakfast that lovely, clear, crisp, October morning, and she was with a man. They had the tussled look of lovers who had spent the morning in bed and decided to go out, get coffee, without showering or changing into new day clothes. They held hands and giggled at each other. They brimmed with the confidence of lovers together daring the world to see them as they were, to realize they smelled of sex.

Let me explain this: When I say ‘my dear friend’ what I mean is, Karen is a woman I worked with who drove me to the edge of reason and sanity every single day, whom I would liked nothing

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