Cruel Trust

One

I crave peanut butter M&Ms, a Diet Coke first thing in the morning, and the romance novels I devour on my Kindle. But one craving stands above all the rest. Candy, carbonated beverages, and steamy books are delightful. But they're nice to haves, not need to haves. 

The non-negotiable craving is simple: alone time. I need it if I am expected to function as a human being. 

But being alone and being lonely are not the same. No one wants to be lonely. No one wants to sit around wondering if they'll ever find the person they're destined to be with. And lately, it's been a little too easy to satiate my craving for peace and quiet. 

I know I don't need a man. I'm a strong, independent woman and all that. And I have friends, amazing ones. But there's nothing like intertwining fingers with that one person who makes all the butterflies buzz to life inside your belly. 

I guess that's why, against every instinct, I joined this stupid dating site. But to my surprise, it seemed to work; I got my first date within three days.

But it all went downhill from there.

That date, and the three after that, were absolute disasters. I vowed to give up dating and become a spinster, almost deleting the profile altogether. 

But one day in late June, I got a private message from a man named Miles—twenty-seven, no kids, entrepreneur. We started texting a couple days later, flirting, sending photos. He was witty, handsome, and seemed like a decent guy. He asked me to meet him for dinner and drinks downtown. I debated whether to accept the invite; after the last four dates, I was a little hesitant. But I figured my love life couldn't get any worse, so I texted him back after a respectable amount of time and told him I'd be there—after all, he seemed perfect.

Perfect. Ha. I've been standing out in the June heat for over an hour waiting for Miles. Fuming, I crossed my arms under my boobs, making the low-cut dress I had worn even more revealing. I rolled my eyes and pulled the v-neck up as far as I could. Whole lot of good that did. The least he could have done was call and cancel. This was like, the ultimate ghosting. Instead, here I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, watching people as they passed and looked at me with pity. I shook my head and stomped to my car, my auburn curls bouncing against my back.

When I got home, I pulled the dress over my head and put on pajama shorts and a tank top. I ran my hands through my curls and piled them on top of my head in a bun. I paced around the house, angry, pissed off, but more than anything, humiliated and unwanted.

Why did he stand me up after two weeks of telling me how great I am? I stood in the bathroom staring at my reflection in the mirror. At that moment, a thought struck me: what if he did show up? What if he pulled up in front of the restaurant, saw me standing there, and decided I wasn't good enough? It seemed more and more likely that was the case; I was the common denominator in all these failed dates.

Rolling my eyes, I pushed away from the counter and threw myself down in the recliner, feeling myself fall into the spiral of self-doubt and depression that I'd been trying so desperately to avoid. Putting my head in my hands, I let the tears I'd been holding back spill down my cheeks.

When I got myself together, I picked up the phone. It was time to get out of this funk, and I knew just the person to help me do it. 

"Thanks for coming out with me," I said to my best friend, Julia, as we made our way to a table on the patio at The Cheesecake Factory.

She bumped me with her hip as we sat down. "When have you ever known me to turn down shopping and food?" Her gray eyes twinkled with amusement as she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, settling in across from me.