Page 87 of Hot Mess

For six months straight, my grandpa visited her grave daily and would sit in the cemetery on a fold-up chair that he brought with him in his Buick’s trunk. It became a daily routine despite the weather. I tried to get him to stay home if it was raining or too windy and cold, but he didn’t care.

“I’m going to see my girl,” he’d say. Their love was inspiring. The kind of love you read about in books or see in movies. After “his girl” died, my grandpa lost his spark and zest for life.

He wanted to be with “his girl.”

Grandpa ended up getting sick and when he died, my heart broke. This is my fifth Christmas without either of them and you’d think each passing year would get easier. But it hasn’t. Without anyone to celebrate, what’s really the point?

With a heavy heart, I hurry up to the small building which houses my very small office. Rents might be astronomical in Manhattan, but I own my own little business and it’s important to me to have a real, legit office where I can invite potential clients.

I started Head Over Heels two years ago and it was inspired by my grandparents’ love story. My grandpa always said the moment he first saw Betty, he was head over heels and knew she’d be his girl. So, this little company of mine is so much more to me than a mere business. My heart and soul are invested.

And that’s why it pains me to know it’s flailing and we’re in massive financial trouble.

Warm air hits my face as I step into the building and walk down to the tiny office with a gold sign that reads Head Over Heels Agency. Reaching into my purse, I fish out my keys and unlock the door. My assistant and best friend Rae should be here soon but, in the meantime, I flip on the lights, drop my bag on the desk, and hope to God there are some messages from potential clients.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been very good at matchmaking. I’m not sure what it is, but I can instantly spot and pair up couples. And I have an extremely successful track record. Most of the couples I hooked up in high school ended up married and, so far, none have divorced.

I’m not exactly sure what it is, but a part of me just knows on a deep, intuitive level that two people would be perfect together. It could be the examples I grew up with in my own family with both my parents and grandparents, but I also think it’s something that just comes naturally.

For whatever reason, I justknow.

Walking over to the small coffee maker, I change the filter, add cold water and brew some hot vanilla-flavored deliciousness. The office instantly smells yummy and after filling my mug to the brim, I sit down at my desk and turn my laptop on.

“You’re going to get a new client today,” I tell myself, trying to be positive. “Youneedto get a new client.”

The sad truth is dating apps have taken over and my skills as a matchmaker aren’t being utilized. I wish people would understand how much care and thought I put into coupling a man and a woman up. There’s no relying on silly algorithms. What I do could almost be described as artistic because when I meet a single man or woman, I learn absolutely everything I can about them. Then I figure out how their strengths, weaknesses, interests, needs, wants and special qualities would pair up best with someone else’s.

It’s a bit like coming up with an enchanted potion. If you get the combination of ingredients just right, magic happens. And that is so much better and more intimate than merely relying on a computer to make that kind of random decision.

Scrolling through my emails, I sigh. No inquiries or interest. Just bill after bill which, right now, I can’t afford to pay. But I’m going to need to pay off one today– more likely tomorrow– or they’re going to turn off the electricity. Rent is also coming up fast and thinking about it makes my stomach hurt.

Pulling up a new tab, I bring up the business bank account and want to cry. It’s draining fast and without a new client to help fill the coffers a little, I’m screwed. Shutting Head Over Heels down will be inevitable and that breaks my heart. I feel like I’ll be letting down my grandparents, my assistant and myself.

I’ve put a lot of pressure on myself to be successful and this kills me because I’m failing miserably.

“Dammit,” I whisper. I’ve thought over my options and no bank in their right mind is going to give me another loan. My company simply isn’t making ends meet. Not yet anyway. I really believe if I could afford better PR and marketing then the clients would come. But currently there’s no way I can pay a company some exorbitant fee. It’s such an awful predicament and I’m beginning to panic. Actually, I’m past that stage. Worry constantly gnaws at my gut and I hate to say it, but I think failure is imminent.

At this point, my only option would be to find a private investor to help me get the company’s name out there and lift us up out of this slump.

Otherwise, Head Over Heels is doomed.

Gritting my teeth, I think again about who I could approach to invest. And again, I come up blank. I don’t run in the elite, hoity-toity New York City circles where people possess millions of dollars. I’ve never dined at The Plaza or spent my weekend at the Hamptons rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. I live in a studio apartment in Brooklyn, take the subway into the city for work and live on Ramen noodles.

I also got dumped recently which should suck but, if I’m being honest, I saw it coming from a mile away. Evan Lyons, though nice and stable, didn’t give me the tingle. And it’s the tingle factor…that undeniable zing…that confirms there’s chemistry. If the spark is there, love can bloom. But relationships take work and, unfortunately for poor Evan, I couldn’t give him the attention he wanted. I’ve been far too focused on saving my company, so he got mad and broke up with me.

Maybe I should be sad, but I’m not.If there’s no tingle, I’d rather be single.I jot that down on a pad of paper and smirk.Maybe I should make that Head Over Heels’ tagline,I think, and chuckle.

“Hey!” a perky voice greets me, and I look up to see Rae McIntyre walk into the office.

“Morning,” I answer, trying not to sound glum.

“Could it be any windier out there? Geez,” she exclaims and runs her hands through her big, red curls, trying to tame them. But Rae’s wild waves have a life of their own. She’s extremely petite, barely 5’ 1”, and a firecracker.

After hanging her coat up and pouring herself some coffee, she sits down on the edge of her desk right next to mine and grins. “I had a date.”

“Really?” I ask, caught completely off-guard. Normally, Rae keeps me up to date on her man situation, but this is news to me. I lean forward, clutching my mug, waiting to hear all the lovey-dovey details.

“It’s crazy. I was in the grocery store, climbing up on the shelves and trying to reach a box of cereal,” she explains. “Out of nowhere, this gorgeous, extremely tall man swoops in and helps me. We hit it off and he asked me out and…” She shrugs and gives me a huge grin.

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