Page 41 of Geordie

“I’m in my apartment. I’ve checked everywhere and there are no boogeymen ready to assault me.”

“Did you check under the bed?”

“I did. Nothing.”

“Oidhche mhath agus bruadar aisling, Lily.”

There’s a silence for a few moments. I’m about to translate when she says, “I’m assuming that’s Gaelic; my grandmother would say something similar to me when I went to bed. I will have a good night and sweet dreams, thank you.”

The woman has a Scottish grandmother. I like her a wee bit more than before.

Chapter twenty

Fifteen Percent

Lily

ThemaninaT-shirt and shorts lying in his bed ten minutes away, who had the misfortune of hurting himself again, has me sleepless. A man who wants a family and will pursue it alone has got to be rare. It felt too much like a crazy coincidence that we would have the same goal of starting a family alone. I couldn't come out and say, “Hey, I'm trying to have a baby too,” even admitting I have a profile up on PollenNation. What would Geordie have thought about that admission? He would have thought I was trying to work his sympathies to get back into his good graces, if I ever had them at all.

I grind my teeth, annoyed at myself. That’s enough thinking about that man, my mind is going in circles. I turn over on my side, shut my eyes and try again to sleep.

The sun shines too brightly through the window. I groan at the thoughtless sun for starting this day way too early. I’d rather pull the sheet over my head to drift back to sleep, but I can’t, not today. I reluctantly push off of the mattress and head towards the kitchen where my faithful coffee machine, is already brewing my first cup and filling the apartment with the scent of dark roasted beans.

I swipe the cup and drink deeply, welcoming it’s energy surging through my body. Caffeine throughout the day will get me through this day and energize me enough to work through the dinner service tonight.

Thoughts of Geordie still plague my mind as I sip, so I open my laptop on the kitchen table, and surf the PollenNation site. I filter for San Pacitas and see a lot of ads for singles looking to co-parent. I find someone called George M, who has a profile, ridiculously close to Geordie MacTavish. That's not unusual to have usernames different from your own. I list LW on my profile.

He's looking for someone to co-parent with, is open to a platonic or sexual relationship. He'll consider any ethnicity, religion, political leaning, and age. As long as she's of Scottish descent and docile, I jokingly add in my head.

PollenNation is organized with more bells and whistles than their competitors. If you click on the person's avatar in the upper right corner of their ad, it opens up more information. Of course, I'm interested in more information. I'm curious to see what he's written in his profile. He gives a physical description that includes age, likes, hobbies, along with a photo. I study his serious face. The picture is one that was taken a while ago. He's minus the beard, looking younger, and handsomer, if you can fathom that.

This site will send you potential matches from their database of members, but it also allows you to run a compatibility analysis on anyone you find on the site.

After a few clicks, I'm running an evaluation on Geordie and I. Our pictures appear side by side as the program compares each catagory like interests, hobbies, etc., When it's finished, the software will score our compatibility.

It stops, a tinny bell rings and a big red fifteen percent appears over our faces. I squint at the screen, tapping keys, thinking I must have done something wrong. No, I did it right.

I sit back blinking at the screen. We’re a fifteen percent match. Our compatibility is on the bottom percentile. They might as well have splashed a red “reject” or “danger” sign across the screen; it would have meant the same. This low percentage means we're not suitable for each other and should never, ever, under any circumstance, get together; it would be a freaking disaster.

That's why I've never seen George M in my match folder. I lean forward to look at our profiles side by side. We look like two lonely people, hoping someone will pick us and make us whole with a child. I close the laptop with a tiny wave of regret. It's not like I was considering him for daddy material. I was just curious.

I stretch a bit, glancing at an empty apartment. My boxes from Stephen's house are still in the corner. The pain from his absence rushes back to me in moments like this. I still love Stephen. It's difficult not to pick up the phone to call him. If only he'd agreed to have a family. We’d be together right now planning our new future, one with children and I wouldn’t have to search for someone to replace him... I shake my head as if I could chase this persistent thought away. We don’t want the same life, it's over. I’ve got to move him to the past and get on with this day.

I'm not needed at the restaurant until about 4 o'clock. I shower and dress, thinking that the routine will wake me up and get me ready for the day. Falling onto the couch. I look at restaurant magazines and mail I haven't looked at for three days.

As I skim through ads, I come across something marked with a return address from Catriona. I grope around for my fancy silver letter opener, but I don't remember where I placed it. I push my thumb under the flap to open the letter. Reading quickly, it says our application has been accepted. We should be prepared for an interview and an on-site visit once our preliminary interviews have been completed. It's signed by someone called Bernadette Howard, an admin for the Catriona committee. Shooting to my feet, I do a little happy dance that we've gotten this far. Geordie said he wouldn't be involved in the selection. I'm wondering if he had a hand in the committee's decision. I should send him a thank you cookie gram. Screw it, I decided last night that I'd call to check up on him this morning. Glancing at the clock, it's late morning and he should be up and about. I scoop up my phone and punch in his number.

“Lily?”

“Yeah, it's me. I called to check up on you. How are you doing?”

“Fine. I've taken your advice and booked an appointment with the doctor. I'm just getting ready to leave.”

“I offered to take you.” Pissed that he didn't call me, but happy that he's taken my advice. “Why didn't you call?”

I can feel his exasperation through the phone. “You've done enough. I can't ask you to continue helping me. It isn't right.”

“I didn't offer to be polite. Forget it. I won't plead my case anymore. I'll be over there in about fifteen minutes. Cancel your rideshare.” I hang up to avoid an argument. I search for my keys, grab a light jacket, and head out the door.

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