Page 12 of Catfish

Me: Extra.

Chase: Sounds like a community college kinda thing to say.

Me: Barely graduated high school, but go Cardinals.

Chase: A bird, really?

Me: A Handsome Dan?

Chase: It’s a bulldog, thank you very much.

Me: Thank God you said you had student debt, or I'd block you.

Chase: Do I get points if I say I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth?

Me: Yeah, you’re going to need them with all these REALLY bad facts I’m learning about you.

My stomach suddenly growls in protest of not eating since breakfast, which, according to the alarm clock on my bed stand, was over nineteen hours ago.

Along with my need for a social life, I obviously need to take some time on self-health. Practically starving myself and eating one Poptart isn’t going to keep me moving and thriving in my life and business.

Tossing my phone back on my bed, I yank my blouse up over my head, feeling the ache in my calves from standing and running around in heels all night. All I want to do right now is eat my leftover pasta, get into my PJ pants, power on the TV I never watch, and chill.

Thankfully, all I have planned for tomorrow is lunch with Sadie to discuss an upcoming charity event that we have to cater and decorate.

Other than that, I don’t have shit to do.

Grabbing my cell and half-walking, half-limping, I stroll through my three-bedroom fixer-upper outside of New Haven and open my fridge to grab my food.

The damn thing is bare.

Yet another thing I need to work on. I don’t want Marty starving when he comes back home from the Marines. I might want to grab a Sam’s Club or Costco membership because I’m sure he can throw down food for a whole army by now.

My phone vibrates against my cheap-tiled countertop, as I empty out my pasta into a bowl.

Chase: Because you’d win the potential wife award of the year.

Chase: I just rolled my eyes.

Me: I’d win the best catch of the year, thank you very much.

Chase: To be determined.

Me: Thank God we’ve already decided we’re not a match.

Chase: Don’t sound so relieved, Sox. I happen to be a catch too.

Me: You’re going to have to prove that one.

Chase: I have a good-paying job, for one.

Me: So do I—next.

But mine came at a cost.

Shoving my pasta into the microwave, I glance around my plain white kitchen and listen to the deafening silence of my house.

It screams lonely, loser, and overachiever. The latter may be right, but it's for good reason. Especially when you're hustling and conning at fourteen to pay the bills. Marty started dealing and gambling on the streets to keep food on the table and the eviction notices off our door.

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