Page 6 of Wicked Lies Grow Wildflowers
Me: Was it at least good sex? Better have been after ditching me on my birthday.
I sure hope one of us had a great end to their night, and I’m not actually mad at her, but I’d like to see her grovel a little bit.
Sage: OBVIOUSLY! That’s why I always come back for more with that one. I have weak willpower. Hahaha. But I’m so sorry for leaving you, I really shouldn’t have. That was shitty of me, especially on your birthday.
Me: No worries or hard feelings, seriously. I’m just glad you had a good night. Mine was . . . weird?
Me: I’m not sure what was going on but when I went to the bathroom I ran into an absolute asshole of a guy. He was really rude for no reason when I was trying to apologize. Because I literally ran RIGHT into him and felt bad, but he was a total ass about it.
Me: He insulted my ability to hold my liquor and then made a creepy comment about being careful, saying that we can never know who’s watching. It was really sketchy.
Sage: EW what?! He is so glad I wasn’t there to give him a piece of my mind. Now I’m really, really, really, sorry I left you alone, that’s a terrible way to end the night.
Me: Well actually that’s another weird part, it didn’t end there. I went back out to the dance floor because I was already tipsy and didn’t want to waste my buzz in an Uber. So I started dancing with a random stranger and it was SO HOT. I’ve never done anything like that before and I can’t even describe how it made me feel. It was kind of erotic to be honest.
Sage: Shut up right now Mae!!! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! How hot was he?! It was a man right? OMFG tell me everything RIGHT NOW!!!!
Me: Oh it was definitely a man, but that’s just it, I didn’t see him. I danced to a few songs with my back against him and then I wanted to see who he was so I tried to turn around and before I could he was gone. Just like that. I have no idea where he went or anything.
Me: After that I was so flustered I took an Uber home for the night. And well, here we are.
Sage: OH MY GOD A RANDOM SEXY FACELESS NAMELESS STRANGER!!! Why can’t that ever happen to me?
Me: Haha well with how much you go out I doubt anyone’s a stranger to you.
Sage: Totally fair, but man I wish you could've at least gotten a name or number.
Me: Honestly, me too. Anyways I gotta get to work, I have two showings today so I’ll text you later, love ya.
Sage: Have fun, love ya too, miss sexy stranger magnet. -xoxo.
My eyes roll at her moniker, and I toss my phone onto the couch and then rush to my room to change, unable to stay in my sweats. Unfortunately, not every day can be a work from home day.
I have two showings across town, which is where they almost always are. While I don’t live in a terrible spot, it’s far from desirable and this side of the city’s real estate is primarily dingy apartments. I work for a local realty company and it’s definitely not a bad job, plus it pays the bills which is all that really matters, but it's rather . . . degrading at times. To live in my small apartment while I show nice houses to people with happy families and picture perfect lives feels like a slap in the face sometimes. I think that’s just my jealousy getting the best of me though.
I snatch my phone from the couch, grab my purse, and reach into my fridge for a premade smoothie to take with me while I drive to my first showing.
Pullinginto the driveway of the first house, I stare in awe at the beautiful, two-story brick home with a wooden front door painted a deep black, flower pots with mums sitting on each side. I let loose a sigh before taking the key from the lockbox and heading inside to turn lights on and look things over before my clients show up in a few more minutes.
As I walk around, I imagine myself living here—something I do every showing. I look around the kitchen and see myselfseated at a table with the love of my life, sharing a peaceful meal without insults being thrown. I imagine kisses goodnight in the bedroom, and the feeling of peace and safety I would experience.
I don’t know why I torture myself this way because it’s not my reality and likely never will be. How could I possibly bring someone into my life when my mother takes up every square inch of it? Much like walking into a showing, I will always be the perfectwelcome homemat for my mother to wipe her feet on.
A car pulls up outside, snapping me out of my self loathing. Walking out, I meet the couple viewing this house, going through the motions of describing the home’s history and architecture. I describe how simply perfect the large backyard would be for pets and how the three bedrooms are ideal for their growing family. By the end I’m less loathsome and more saddened by the path my life has taken thus far.
I lock up the house once they leave and head across town to meet a different client, emotionally exhausted and ready to get this day over with already, even though it's only noon. Usually I really do enjoy this job, but sometimes it’s a little too draining when my emotions are running high. I should really work on separating myself from my clients; their lives aren’t mine and I have to reconcile with that.
After my second showing, I go to a drive-through for some food because cooking is not on my agenda today. The only thing I want is a greasy burger, comfy clothes, and either that nap I promised myself, or an early night. Once I get home, I peel off my work clothes and slide into my beloved sweats, thankful that I don’t need to be in the office anymore today and can finish up work from home. It’s just calls and emails about inquiries into my agency's current listings and suddenly I don’t dislike my job at all anymore.
With the first bite into my delicious burger, I let out a moan as the fatty and rich flavor rolls over my tongue. A sip of cokewashes it down and I think I’m in heaven becauseGod,I’ve waited all day for this moment. I make some necessary phone calls while I eat and shoot off some emails. When I’m done, it's four in the afternoon and I can finally ‘clock out’ for the day. I debate taking that nap I dreamed of this morning but I decide to watch some Netflix instead. I’m halfway into an episode of my favorite true crime show when my mind drifts to last night.
The memory was almost forgotten amidst the mundane routine of the work week, or weekend, I should say. While others may enjoy a strict Monday through Friday job, real estate requires a bit more flexibility; I find myself working weekends often. I think back to the man I danced with and it makes me consider going out again tonight just to see if I run into him again. Maybe I’d be able to get a name this time, or at least a face to put on the blurred shadow that I currently picture. I can conjure up exactly what his body looks like based on the feel of him against me, but the face is just a fuzzy swatch of gray in my brain. An unknown blur that’s going to drive me absolutely insane.
I lose myself in Netflix for a while before my mind drifts back to that stranger once again. Why am I so hooked on someone I’ve never even formally met, let alone seen?
I look at the clock and see it’s seven. My need for knowing who he is outweighs my need for sleep and I really hope I don’t regret this later. I text Sage, knowing she’ll be game to join me. That girl can never turn down the promise of a good time, even if it is suspicious that I’m initiating an outing.
Me: Hey, Sage, do you wanna hit The White Rabbit again tonight? And NO, I haven’t lost my mind and no, I also have not been replaced with an alien. I’m serious.
