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Tymber McKay
I never thought I would be doing this, but I’ve got to face facts, I am at my wit’s end. Let’s Try Love is the hottest new app and I’m in the process of signing up for it. I heard about it at the coffee shop this morning. The ladies in front of me in line were touting its accolades and I just knew I had to try it out. I am only twenty-one years old, and I have my whole life ahead of me, but I can’t be alone anymore. I just can’t.
After drinking an entire bottle of wine, I’m lying on my couch, in my sweet Harry Potter pajamas, filling out the extremely personal and quite long questionnaire. I have never been on a date, but I’ve got my reasons for doing this. The biggest and most glaring reason is my brothers and sisters. Have you guessed that I’m the youngest and the black sheep of my family? I have six older siblings and they are all leading perfect lives, with perfect spouses, and their perfect children. I hate how bitter I am about this.
All of my brothers and sisters are married and they either have kids or are expecting them. I am so beyond tired of my sisters and their pitying looks over family dinners. Sometimes, I feel like I am stuck in a Jane Austen novel. Once a week at least, all I hear is about my lack of a husband. It’s not like I don’t want one. It’s not like I don’t want to be a mother more than anything, but without prospects it’s hard.
I make it a priority to as honest as possible when answering the questions. I take a tasteful selfie and post it. I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it either. I look like shit. My exhaustion is evident, but I am an insomniac. What you see is what you get. These questions are pretty thorough. My interests? Shit, I have so many, I just list my top five: Cooking, baking, knitting, reading, and football. Recently, I graduated from the University of Tennessee with a degree in Medieval French and a minor in British Literature. Why? Because I am obsessed with both. I know there is no practical implementation of either unless I want to be a professor, which I definitely don’t. I speak four languages, besides English and sarcasm: French, Vietnamese, Spanish, and Mandarin. I feel like an accomplished lady from Pride and Prejudice. Caroline Bingley comes to mind. Accomplished but not exactly marriage material. I could probably go out and meet someone, but that’s not really my style.
I finally finish filling out the questions and hit submit. Of course, nothing happens. It’s a bit underwhelming actually. I don’t know what I expected to happen, but when nothing does, I toss my phone aside and do what I do when I’m stressed. I clean my entire apartment from top to bottom. My family takes up an entire floor of The Sorensen Heights Tower. The thirty-eighth floor to be exact. Mine, 3810, is the last apartment on the right. My sister Rachel, her husband Brad, and their three kids are my immediate neighbors.
At three-thirty, I hear my favorite niece, Brianna crying. A few minutes later, there is a soft knock at my door. Answering it, I see that it’s my brother-in-law.
“Hey, Brad,” I say softly. I knew it would be him. He looks exhausted, but he still manages to offer me a smile. Brad is actually my best friend. We don’t hang out much anymore, as it should be, but he’ll always be my best friend. We met in high school. I was a sophomore and he was a senior, the same as Rachel. They started dating when I introduced them a few days later. I’ve never had those kinds of feelings for him, but I am glad he loves my sister so much.
“Rachel has an early day. Can you work your magic here?” he asks handing me the still crying Bri and her bottle. I am kind of a baby whisperer. They all bring me their babies when they are inconsolable.
“Of course,” I say, putting her on my hip, she sniffles and settles into my shoulder. “You wanna come back in the morning? I got her tonight.” Most nights, I have a kid here and fuck if that doesn’t make me long for my own. I even have my own stockpile of clothes and diapers here.
“You are a life-saver, Tymber. You are going to make some guy very happy one day,” he says with a smirk on his face.
“Gee, thanks jerkface. Go back to bed,” I say laughing and shutting the door in his face.
“Hi, Bri-baby. You ready to go to bed?” She is eighteen months old and just starting to form sentences.