His Curvy Beauty by Lana Love
At this rate, I’ll be lucky to get home by New Year’s Eve.
“Hey, Sis. Where you at? Should I crack open a beer for you?”
I crane my neck out into the cool afternoon air, then groan.
“I wish. No. I’m still on the freeway. It’s…”
“What have I told you about phones while driving? You know how many people I take to the ER because of distracted driving!”
“Whoa. We’re at a literal standstill. In fact, my motor is off – just like everyone else. There must be an accident somewhere up the road, because I can’t see where the backup even begins. I’m just calling to say I’m going to be phenomenally late.”
“Jeez. Sorry. It’s just—”
“It’s okay. I know. I haven’t forgotten the stories you’ve told me.”
“You should save your phone battery. Text me when it starts clearing and when you have an idea of when you’ll arrive. And call me if you need anything.” The tone of Jimmy’s voice is more somber. It’s not the time of year to get stranded on the side of the road. It’s not snowy, yet, but it’s not at all warm.
“Yes, Dad,” I say, a smile spreading across my face. “I’ll keep you posted. And don’t go bogarting all the beer, ‘k?”
Sittingin traffic leaves me alone to think, which is something I’ve been avoiding lately. The holidays are always hard, primarily because Jimmy and I lost our parents four years ago, thanks to a drunk driver on Christmas Eve. I’m also not as excited as I feel I should be, because my ‘I think this guy is the one’ boyfriend dumped me three weeks ago.
I know everyone will look at me, that tinge of pity in their eyes when I say that I’m single, again. The common refrain will be something like “You’re a catch!” or “You’ll find someone when you least expect it!” or “You’re smart and pretty…it will work out next time!”
It seems like there’s always next time on the horizon, when what I really want is to settle down and start a family. No one seems to understand why all of my relationships don’t work out — least of all me. What’s sad, is that I’ve figured out what the common denominator in all these relationships is – it’s me. I don’t know how to figure out what’s wrong with me, so I can fix it and move on.
Frustration runs through my body and I sit, tense, as I watch the endless lines of red brake lights in front of me. This traffic jam is not unlike my love life – stalled and going nowhere fast. I say a little prayer for whatever is causing the traffic jam, because it’s likely an accident and someone is seriously hurt.
I breathean enormous sigh of relief when I pull into my brother’s driveway. I need a beer or three after that drive. My gas tank is nearly empty, my butt is sore, and my jacket isn’t enough against the chilly wind that blasts me as I hoist my suitcase out of my trunk and rush up to my brother’s house. I smile as I knock on the brightly lit front door.
I’m looking forward to moving home in February, and then starting a fresh life. I’ve been stuck in a pattern of men who aren’t right for me and I haven’t figured out how to find one who is good for me. It’s just, sometimes, it’s easier to get blinded by lust or dating someone you think should be right for you.
I knock on the door hard, again, eager to get inside and see my brother.
When the door opens, my body stops shivering as my libido flares bright enough to heat the whole of Oregon. I blink my eyes rapidly, wondering if car fumes got to me and I’m hallucinating.
“What the hell are you doing here?”