Thirty-five and Single

Resigned, I tell her the rest, including three amazing orgasms to the point I wake up to knocking.

“I open the door, thinking it’s Joel, but it’s Corey. Joel was still in my room and comes out shirtless. Corey looks like he’s going into anaphylactic shock. Hell, I was about to get my Taser gun to shock him back to life when Joel kisses me.”

“In front of Corey?” my sister asks like she has a bowl full of popcorn in hand.

“Exactly. Then they practically circle themselves in male domination. I wanted to preen like a peacock, but the thought of cock had me thinking of Joel and his magic stick.”

“Magic stick. Does he move like Mike?”

“Mike?”

“You know, Magic Mike?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen the movie,” I confess.

“Blasphemy. What do you visualize when you break out your vibrator?”

“My imagination.”

She tsks. “We must rectify this immediately. Do you have a DVD player?”

“Seriously, who still owns DVD players?”

“Those of us with DVDs. Darren bought me the DVD years ago. He puts it on when he wants to get me in the mood.”

“Oh. My. God,” I say.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Besides the TMI.” Her laughter has me quickly adding, “Let’s get back on track.”

“Fine. What happened next?”

I give her the condensed version.

“You told him your ovaries were old?”

“Not in so many words,” I groan.

“And you’re going to fix him up with someone else?”

I nod, but remember she can’t see me. “Yes.”

“You fucked up.”

“I know,” I cry.

“Okay. We’re going to sign you up for a dating site. Don’t worry about coming over tonight. The kids will eat your cake and love it. I’ll call Ella.”

“Wait—no.”

But my sister is gone. Groaning, I head for the kitchen to grab food and turn on cable to watch a movie and try not to feel like a total loser on my birthday.

Chapter Eight

Waking, I feel empowered. After a night of watching the movie How to Be Single and eating the entire ice cream cake, which to my credit had been a tiny one made for two, I stretch.

I shake off the gloominess from the night before, determined not to be depressed that my life is a solitary one. It had been my choice.

After all the useless calories I’d consumed in the last two nights, I am itching for a run. But the coward that I am, I can’t seem to bear the idea of running into Joel at the gym. So I power walk my apartment living room with my earbuds in.

When the afternoon rolls around, there’s a knock at my door. This time it’s not a shock to see who’s behind it. My carefree younger sister who takes after our mother strolls in with her bohemian style and former dancer grace. She practically floats across the floor with her silky hair breezing behind her. It’s another thing I could hate her for. My hair is a frizzy mess when not tamed by the beast known as a flat iron.

“Are you ready?” She looks me over, giving Sable some attention when the cat worms her way around my sister’s legs.

“Really? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I indicate my jeans and t-shirt.

She comes over with her finger to her lips and taps it there. “Got it.”

Before I know it, her hand is at the collar of my tee. She pulls, and the fabric gives under her tiny hands. She is a few inches shorter and several pounds lighter than I am. Standing next to her, I feel like a giant. Thank God for Amelia, or I would have thought I got the short end of the stick with our parents’ gene pool. Or should I say, giant-sized end?

“Hey, wait, that’s my favorite shirt,” I complain.

“Yeah, and that shirt makes you look like your tits are for milking.”

She moves around to my back, missing my glaring stare.

“Not funny.”

“It isn’t meant to be. You want a man, you’ve at least got to look like you’re interested in one,” she says.

“Maybe I should just stay home and graze the pasture.” I slouch in my seat, feeling deflated. “Moo.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I don’t. I think extra-large comes to a guy’s mind when he sees me.” Ella swats my butt before tugging my shirt tight at the bottom. “Hey, you’re going to give me a muffin top if you keep doing that. Then a guy will think dessert, but not me.”

“Rog happens to think you’re a babe.”

Her current live-in boyfriend, Roger, prefers to be called Rog.

“That’s not saying much when he likes men too. Is it my man hands he’s into?”

Ella rolls her eyes. My baby sister fancies herself a former lesbian; I call her bisexual. She dated a woman for over two years and now is dating Rog.

“He’s not gay. He’s sexually fluid.”

I laugh. “You realize that sex and fluid…”

She’s in her bag and pulls out makeup, urging me to take a seat. I do. She’s so much better at it than I am.