Page 4 of Living for Truth
I pretend I don’t hear her.
As soon as I’m in my room, I flop on the bed and scream into my pillow. Of course she thinks it’s because of my body. It can’t be any other reason other than I’m picky, I’m not trying, or I’m fat.
My mom acts like I wasn’t married for eight years. Like I’m justrefusingto get married even though my divorce was only finalized three months ago. Everyone expectsme to just… move on from an eight-year relationship like it meant nothing to me.
I stand and look at myself in the full length mirror on my closet door. I felt pretty when I put on my favorite blush pink bodysuit underneath a black and white daisy print mid calf-length skirt. I thought the black wedges I paired the outfit with made my calves look good, but now the ugly thoughts are creeping in and showing me what everyone else sees.
A double chin.
Flabby arms.
Big boobs weighed down by gravity.
A pudgy stomach with an apron belly covered in stretch marks.
Thighs littered with cellulite that rub together and chafe when I walk.
Dirty blonde hair chopped to just below my chin—a post-divorce impulsive cut.
Hazel eyes.
I’m not the thin, perky, blue-eyed, blonde girl of everyone’s dreams.
But if someone doesn’t want me for me, then I don’t want them.
Chapter 2
Morgan
Another date, another fail. Why is it so hard to find someone to date?
Oh, I know. I live in Utah, the Mormon capital of the world.
Literally. Their headquarters are in Salt Lake.
Here, no one wants to be with a guy who already has a school-aged kid. They’re all too focused on starting their own families, and they see my sweet Alyssa as baggage they don’t want to carry.
Not to mention I’m not part of their little “book club,” so that’s another mark against me.
The gay and bi guys are apparently allergic to commitment, and the women seem averse to being a step-mom to a kid who can form her own thoughts. I think if Aly were a baby, it might be different, but I can’t change her age.
I’m too old to play this fucking dating game.
Cocky as it sounds, I thought people would be jumping at the chance to date a former wide receiver for theDenver Mustangs, but I guess when you aren’t a Super Bowl champion, the NFL title kind of loses the allure, especially coupled with the single dad factor.
Blake was nice enough, but when I asked him if he wanted kids, he said, “I think kids are the worst. They’re loud, they’re gross, and they don’t have boundaries. I’m too selfish to want to take care of someone else.” Which is valid. If you don’t want kids, you don’t want kids. And it’s okay to be selfish and not want to take care of a whole-ass human.
But I already have a kid, and I will not be giving her up for someone else. She and I are a package deal.
I finished the date because I’m not a total ass, but there’s no way there’ll be a second.
Bagel, my gray striped cat, ambles over and curls up on my lap. He always knows when I need some extra cuddles. I got him when Aly was barely a year old, thinking it would be great to have her grow up with a furry little buddy. He’s very calm, and he’s been the perfect companion for us.
Unlike his asshole little brother, Bean.
Bean was just a kitten when we found him behind the flower shop two years ago, and Alyssa refused to leave him there. He was so tiny, and his cries were so sad, I relented. We took him to a vet and got him started on his vaccines, and he and Bagel seemed to hit it off. He was calm for the first week, then he became a little black void of chaos. He likes Alyssa but hates me and everyone else.
I reflect on my date while I stroke Bagel’s fur, my lips tipping up when I remember I wasn’t the only one on a bad date.
