Starting over — fiction

365 Days of Dating

Can you move on in 365 days?

Part 1

I’m Cat Abbot, married for 21 years, divorced for 2. One day my ex-husband, Jim, told me kindly over dinner that he just wasn’t feeling it anymore. And well, neither was I. We had about 3 great years early on, and after our son Grant came along, I went one way, and he went another. We were great friends for years but lacked any sort of passion. I forgot what that even meant.

So, it wasn’t a genuine surprise when Jim was ready to move on shortly after Grant left for college.

Thankfully, it was an easy break. I have a business degree. I got it with hopes of one day managing a hospital or a doctor’s office, but I couldn’t find any work. My ex-husband Jim, a long-time science teacher at the local high school, was able to find me a position managing the HR department in a separate building on campus.

15 years in, and I have it pretty easy. Besides hiring and firing, I can delegate tasks, for the most part, so I work a lot from home. I do ok.

It’s 6 pm, and I’ve just met with my BFF (that’s what we call it, although I think it’s maybe outdated by now). We have a “date night” every other Friday to discuss our sons, jobs, and lack of sex. Somehow, we make it fun.

Charyn is tall and model-like, perfectly thin, and fabulous. She can also drink 5 dirty martinis in one sitting and never look like an idiot. The woman is gorgeous and sleek with the blackest hair and the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen, but I don’t think she knows.

I am short and curvy but in a slim way, if that makes sense, with brown hair that I am constantly trying to spruce up so it looks like something besides “mouse.” I have dark blue eyes, and I think most people would call me cute or the girl next door type. Charyn tells me all the time that I don’t look anywhere close to 42, and that I could easily pass for 35. I like that about her.

“So,” Charyn starts, looking over her glass at me. “How’s Jim?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “How the heck would I know?”

“I don’t give a damn about how Jim is; I’m just kidding.” She quipped.

I laughed. “How’s Rick?” I asked in return. Or maybe out of spite. She rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, she isn’t as lucky as me and is still married to Rick, although they have about the same life as Jim and me. I think she’s alright with it, though.

He’s a top lawyer in our town, and if they split, she’d have to work for the first time ever. After weighing that decision multiple times, I think she’s counting on him kicking the bucket while she still has enough time to live. She’s 15 years younger than him. Did I mention that earlier?

Gosh, that’s morbid.

But I don’t blame her.

Charyn is on martini number 3, while I’ve tried a gin and tonic, a vodka tea, and now I’m on to vodka and sprite. I can’t find a drink I love. I mean, I love it once, and then I start to feel gaggy.

My head starts to spin just a bit when she crosses her legs and glares at me in that best friend’s way. “So honestly, what are you going to do? It’s been two damn YEARS, Cat. It’s time to move on. Hell…” she sits her drink down with purpose. “It was time to move on years ago.”

“I know, I know. But truthfully? The most sex I’ve had in the last 15 years was in my head when I read Fifty Shades of Grey.” Charyn broke into a fit of giggles.

“Super unsettling for someone as hot as you to giggle like that,” I responded while flipping her off in my head.

“Dude, COME ON.” Charyn retorted. (Sometimes, our sons’ vocabulary takes over adult vocabulary for us, and I’m sure people think we’re high all the time.)

I sighed. “I know, blah blah blah, it’s like riding a bike. Whatever. I haven’t been naked in front of someone in a million years. I would feel so silly. Also, I am insanely naïve regarding sex, as you know. I think we only ever tried missionary.”

She’s laughing so hard at this point that she starts to hiccup.

“Ok, I’m done. It’s time for you to go home.” I said with another one of my famous eye rolls.

We said our I Love You’s, and I walked the block back to my condo while she hopped in an Uber to head across town.

We live in a medium-sized town just west of Indianapolis, where there’s plenty to do, but it’s still safe enough to walk home alone.

Yep, I’m a good ole’ midwestern gal.

I got home, dropped my keys, and looked around. My two-story condo is super cute and suitably in the middle of everything. It’s not huge, but it’s perfect for me. I have a distant view of the high school from my upstairs loft window, and last year I spent a lot of time up there with the windows open, listening to the football games while reading.

I walked up to the loft, to my favorite gray comfy chair, and curled up.

I hated to admit it, but Charyn might be right. It’s time to move on. I just don’t know how.

I like to plan and make lists, so the following day, as I sipped my caramel coffee at my small kitchen bar, I enacted the plan, 365 days of dating.

The plan goes like this: I go out of my way to meet a different guy daily. Meaning; have a conversation. Big or small. I’m not putting huge boundaries on this yet. I will accept if someone should ask me out during these meetings, providing he’s not creepy or whatever.

The dilemma is: how the hell do I just bump into single random guys every day at the age of 42?

I sighed.

No time to worry about it right now because I have a long day of sifting through resumes ahead of me; I’ll table it for now and call Sharyn later tonight. I dressed quickly, threw on some quick lip gloss and mascara to make myself feel put together, and pulled out a stack of resumes. And my reading glasses.

Want to hear more about Cat and Sharyn? Where is this dating scheme going to go? Will Sharyn support it?

Only time will tell.

This isn’t my normal style of writing, but the idea has been floating around in my head for quite some time, and I thought about working it into a novel.

Let me know how I’m doing, or if I should scrap it. I love your feedback.

Thanks for reading! ❤ — GC

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