Page 3 of Living for Truth
I smirk as I read the message.Way to try to save this guy’s ego, unknown texter.
Hannah: I think you have the wrong number.
Unknown:This is Morgan. Is this not Blake?
Hannah:Nope. Sorry.
Unknown:Prove it.
Hannah: Excuse me?
Unknown:Send me a pic so I know you’re not Blake playing games.
Hannah: Absolutely not. I’m not sending my picture to arandom stranger.
Unknown: Then how do I know you’re not Blake?
As a woman on the dating scene, this Morgan lady should understand why I’m not going to just send my picture to random strangers.
I get into my car, turn on my “bad date” playlist, and let Taylor Swift and Carrie Underwood soothe my soul with music about men who have done them wrong.
Hannah: My name is Hannah, I WAS just on a date but with a dude named Brody who talked for fifteen minutes about the importance of crypto currency then tried to stick his greasy tongue in my mouth. You don’t have to believe me, but trust me, I’d rather be Blake.
Unknown:Alright, I believe you. I don’t think anyone would make that up lol.
I huff out a laugh and place my phone in the cup holder as I make my escape.
When I pull up in front of the place I call home, I take a deep breath and plaster on a smile before I walk inside.
Unfortunately for me, I had to move back into my childhood home. I didn’t want to have to live with four other girls in order to make rent. Living at home lets me save money and build up a nest egg for when I eventually do move out.
My mom, Shelly, is sitting in her usual spot on the couch watching a Hallmark movie and scrolling through her phone when I walk in.
I don’t really look like her. Or my dad, for that matter. Mom has long, brown hair she streaks with blonde highlights, blue eyes, and a pointed nose she always seems to be looking down. My dad’s bald, save for a thin ring of graying hair shaped like a “U” around his head, and has brown eyes. Sometimes I wonder if I was adopted because I don’t have much in common with them, and I don’t feel like we have a familial bond. It’s like we’re all business partners who meet for nightly business meetings they call “family dinner.”
“Hannah.” She looks at the time. “Oh, you’re home early. Did the date not go well?”
“It went okay. I don’t think we’ll go out again.” Better to keep it short and simple. I don’t need her telling her friendsanotherone of my dates didn’t go anywhere.
Who am I kidding? She’ll tell them anyway, even if I don’t say a damn thing.
“Oh.” She frowns. “That’s a shame. Brody seems like such a nice boy. You know, your biological clock is ticking, Hannah.”
My jaw tenses, like it always does when this conversation happens. “I know, Mom. It’s not like I’mnot trying. I can’t magically make the perfect man appear in front of me on one knee.”It’s not my fault my body didn’t want to cooperate and keep a child, either. Or did she forget the multiple miscarriages I had?
“Well, maybe you need to be less picky. I mean, what was wrong with Brody? He comes from a good, faithful family. He served a mission, is temple worthy, has a degree and a good job.”
I want to say: “He didn’t ask me a single question about myself. He looked disgusted when I ordered a burger instead of a salad like he suggested and could only talk about crypto currency.”
Instead, I say, “There was just no chemistry between us.”
Mom sighs disappointedly. “Well, maybe if you focused a little more on taking better care of yourself there would be some chemistry.”
Alright, I’m not going there tonight.
“Right. Okay, well, I’m going to go… somewhere else. Goodnight.”
As I make it to the bottom of the stairs, she calls out, “You need to stop being so sensitive! I love you, and I’m worried about you!”
