Page 4 of Finding Her Strength

“Got it. I’ll pick them up on my way.”

“Thanks. We’ll see ya in a bit.” Cooper hangs up as I walk into my apartment.

Now that Coop is married, I am one of the last single people in our friend group, which has been a lot harder to deal with than I expected. I’m social by nature, so being by myself for extended periods of time isn’t something I enjoy. With most of our friends having found their partners, I’ve been by myself more often than not. Luckily, I still have Sara to hang out with. She’s the only other single person in our group.

For a long time, our friends tried to get us to date each other, but neither one of us feel that way about the other. She’s more like a sister to me than anything else. The idea of dating her is just too weird.

I’m not even sure settling down is in the cards for me. I’ve tried many times over the years, with varying types of women, hoping one of them will be the right one. I’ll take her out a few times, have some fun, then something usually happens, and we stop seeing each other. Sometimes, it’s me losing interest, other times, she’s the one to end things. But, no matter what I do, it always ends. At this point, I’m prepared to be alone forever. Stuck in an endless loop of going out with women who want nothing more than a good night.

Jesus, that's a depressing thought.

I head back to my bathroom to shower, grateful my brother is more like a best friend. Without his invitation to hang out, I would’ve been climbing the walls with boredom.

I could’ve called one of the girls I occasionally date to see if they wanted to go to dinner. The problem is they only want to go out with me to come back to my apartment for a quick fuck and asee you later. Which hasn’t been appealing recently.

I also recognize how douchey that makes me look. The idea that I have women available anytime I text them makes me feel sleazy. The crazy part is I wasn’t the one who set it up like that. It’s like all I’m needed for is a good time and a happy ending. They don’t want to date me, just fuck me. Which has been great up until a couple of months ago when I started to wonder if this was all I was capable of having—meaningless relationships with no substance. That’s not how I thought my life would end up nor how I want it to continue.

When I’m done cleaning up, I grab my favorite navy blue baseball hat and keys to head to the store. Once I’m in my truck, I feel my shoulders relax, the tension of the day draining from my body. It’s going to be a good night.

3

HOPE

The snip of my shears clicks through the room as the afternoon sunlight filters through the windows. The bouquet I’m making is for Mr. Shanihan, a sweet, older gentleman who brings flowers to his wife’s grave every week. The white and blue lilies stand out starkly against the dark countertop as I place them into their arrangement. Apparently, they were Mrs. Shanihan’s favorite.

My eyes flick up to watch him walk around my store. He’s always requested his bouquet to be ready at 3:00 p.m. on the dot, but he also comes twenty minutes early to pick them up every week. I’ve offered many times to make them earlier, but he only wants them right at three. I think he’s lonely. Coming here early gives him someone to talk to every week.

“Mr. Shanihan, you're looking very dapper today. Any particular reason you’re all dressed up?” He has on a western button-down shirt—pearl buttons and all—and a nice pair of denim jeans. His gray hair is combed over, while his faded blue eyes hold a sparkle in them I haven’t seen since I opened the shop. If I’m not mistaken, I think he’s even blushing.

“Can I let you in on a little secret, sweet Hope?” He grinsat me, sauntering closer to my countertop as I finish up his flowers.

“Always,” I say, returning his grin.

“I’m going on a date.”

“Oh, my goodness.” I can’t help the chuckle that breaks free. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Well since you told menoso many times, I asked out another pretty girl. Her name is Elizabeth.”

Every time Mr. Shanihan came in to pick up his flowers, he’d ask me if this was the day I’d finally go out with him. I always told him I was flattered but was not the right girl for him.

“Are you talking about Mrs. Jensen?” I’ve heard she’s a rather eccentric woman. Someone once told me she likes to oil paint naked on her back deck.

“Yep.” He rocks back on his heels with his hands in his pockets, looking pleased as punch.

“Well, I hope you have the best time,” I tell him, handing over his flowers.

“Oh, I always have a good time.” He winks at me. All I can do is laugh in response. After Mr. Shanihan leaves, I clean up my shop, rearranging some of the displays sitting out on the table.

Today, I am closing a little early so I can have a virtual session with my counselor. I found her through an app when I first moved to Sonoma, and she’s been an integral part of helping me heal from my past. Over the last year, I’ve steadily been able to decrease my sessions to only once a month. I think I’ll be ready to cut back even more soon, which in and of itself is an achievement.

Walking back to my tiny office, I prepare my space for the session by lighting candles, organizing my desk, and doing what I can to remove any distractions and create an environment for healing.

When it’s time, I join the meeting, seeing my counselor’s face fill my computer screen. She’s a cute pixie of a woman, who doesn’t let me get away with anything. I really like her.

“Hello, Hope!”

“Hey, Joy. How are you doing?”

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