Page 2 of Living for Truth
Now, I’m an unwed—technically divorced—twenty-six-year-old, and people are encouraging me to get on dating apps or setting me up with their cousin’s best friend’s dog sitter.
Someone who’s well-adjusted might think, “Twenty-six? That’s so young to be divorced already!”
When you live in Utah and grow up Mormon, the norm is to get married straight out of high school—which I did—and pop out your first kid nine months from your wedding day—which I didn’t, though not fora lack of trying.
Divorce isn’t as common as one would think. People usually just stay in unhappy marriages and pretend everything is peachy keen, especially in Mormon culture.
My ex-husband was adamant we weren’t meant to be, even though we were married for almost eight years, and I wanted to make the marriage work. In the end, he initiated the separation and sent the papers, and I didn’t have any fight left in me.
That’s how I ended up on yetanotherdate with a “sweet boy who would be just perfect for you!” according to my mom’s best friend.
Twenty-seven-year-old Brody Smith. Dora’s grandson’s old mission companion, oldest child of six, served his mission in Peru, just graduated from Brigham Young University with his MBA.
His “dating resume” plays on a constant loop in my head, as if it’s different from any other BYU boy. They even tend to look the same.
Blue eyes, blonde hair perfectly gelled up in the front and tapered on the sides, and a clean-shaven face. He’s wearing a short sleeve, blue button-up with khaki chinos and brown dress shoes, all of which are probably from Target or Zara. He’s not… unattractiveper se, but he’s just… unoriginal. I don’t feel anything towards him.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I don’t feel anythingpositivetowards him.
He’s been rambling for fifteen minutes about crypto currency. It started with me asking who he admires most, and his answer?
“Every smart person I admire in the world, and those I semi-fear, is focused on the concept of crypto.”
I tuned him out after he started talking about beaver markets or bear markets or something. It’s times like these I wish I could openly drink alcohol because I think it would make this conversation significantly less painful.
Why can’t I drink alcohol openly at twenty-six? Well, it’s against Mormon rules. My first experience with alcohol was six months ago when Liam handed me divorce papers as he walked out of our shared apartment, bags in hand. I went straight to the liquor store, bought a box of cheap wine, and drank half of it in one night.
The hangover after wasn’t fun, but it numbed the pain of ending what I thought would be an eternal love, at least for the night.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down to see a text from an unknown number. My brow furrows as I read the message.
Unknown:I had a great time tonight, but I just don’t think we’re going to work out.
“Hannah, are you listening to me?”
I look up at Brody with a faux apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Brody. It wassoriveting to listen to you talk about the bear market—”
“It’s BULL market.”
“Right,bullmarket. My brother just texted me to remind me it’s my turn to let out our parents’ dog,” I lie with an exaggerated pout, grabbing my purse andstanding from the table. Do my parents have a dog? No. But he doesn’t know that.
“Oh. Okay. Well, call me sometime, and I can help set you up with your own crypto account. Maybe we can finish this date,” he purrs as he stands and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into an awkward embrace.
I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Sure.”
Apparently—and unfortunately—he takes it as his cue to kiss me goodbye. Somehow his lips are dryandgreasy from the burger he practically inhaled. I suppress a gag as his tongue tries to weasel its way into my mouth in the middle of this restaurant.
My phonepingswith another text, and I push him away gently.
Saved by the bell.“Bye, Brody.”
“Bye, beautiful.”
Gross.I roll my eyes as soon as I turn away from him and walk as fast as I can out of the restaurant and to my car.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to be complimented, but I got the impression he’d try to dry hump me to orgasm—for him, not me—then ghost me because I don’t fit the “vibe” of his future wife or some bullshit like that.
Unknown: I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. You’re a super cool guy and smokin' hot, totally out of my league, but we just aren’t compatible. We’re at different places in our lives.
