Noah: Do you require emergency assistance, Sawyer?
Me: Not yet.
Noah: Ok. If you do, I recommend 911 and not my cell phone. I’m at least 700 miles away. And while Death by Twinkie is likely a slow way to go, I may not arrive in time.
Me: Would you at least try?
Noah: For you, always.
That made me smile.
And then.
Noah: But maybe you should lay off the Twinkies.
Me: FUCK YOU I HAVE TRIED.
Noah: Can’t you take up some other bad habit?
Me: Like what?
Noah: I don’t know. Something that will do you in faster. How about cliff diving?
Me: No way.
Noah: Playing with matches?
Me: Not interested.
Noah: Sword swallowing?
Me: You wish.
Noah: Hahaha. I was not referring to my sword. Although it could potentially do some damage, I assure you.
Me: You’re a pig. I don’t know why I texted you. GOODBYE FOREVER.
Noah: That’s it? I’m never going to hear from you again?
Me: Would you even care?
It was a childish response, but I was not feeling the love from any direction tonight. I wanted to hear that I mattered to someone.
Noah: Don’t be a dickhead, Sawyer. You know I would.
Immediately, I felt better. And a little silly.
Me: Sorry. I had a really bad day.
My phone began buzzing a moment later. Noah McCormick calling. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Are you at work?” I pictured him in his uniform, sitting in his black and white Explorer. Short dark hair. Soft brown eyes with thick lashes. Neatly groomed scruff covering a solid jaw. And big strong arms. I’d always liked his arms.
“I’m home now,” he said. “So what’s up?”
“My cholesterol. My blood pressure. Possibly my time on earth.”
His laughter was deep and resonant. “What’s the matter?”
I eyed a fifth golden snack cake. “I’m stress eating Twinkies. But I also have margaritas,” I added in an effort to sound more adult.
“Twinkies and tequila. Classy.”
I took a big swallow and set the glass down. “I try.”
“So what happened?”
“I failed at another relationship.”
“With the boyfriend? What the hell was his name again, River?”
“Brooks.” I took another sip. “But he’s not my boyfriend anymore. He left me.”
“Oh yeah? When?”
“Tonight. I came home from work to find him packing his bags.” The memory had me grabbing that fifth Twinkie and taking a bite.
“Huh. Out of nowhere?”
“Not really. Things weren’t great with us.” I chewed and swallowed. “But it’s so humiliating. I keep getting dumped. What’s wrong with me, Noah?”
“Nothing, other than the fact that you’re making me miss the start of the game.”
“Maybe that’s it. I’m selfish.”
He sighed. “Sawyer, you spent all your college summers building houses for Habitat for Humanity. You’re not selfish.”
Tossing the rest of the uneaten Twinkie aside, I jumped up and began pacing back and forth in front of the couch. “Am I too picky?”
“You should be picky. There’s a lot of assholes out there.”
“Maybe I’m a terrible fuck.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“But you can’t say for sure!”
“That’s true,” he said, laughing, “so maybe you should come home and let me take you for a test drive. Assess your steering and handling.”
That made me smile. “Very funny.”
For all his dirty jokes, Noah had never once tried anything with me. I used to wonder why, but eventually assumed I just wasn’t his type. He went for hot blondes with at least a C cup. Back then I was a brunette whose bra size matched her math grade: solid A. (Although these days, I am at least a B plus, possibly even a C minus.)
There was one time when I was in grad school and he’d come to see me in DC that I’d thought he was about to kiss me. He was in the Army back then, and about to ship out for his second deployment, so our goodbye had felt kind of intense. But the moment lasted for a fraction of a second, and afterward I was sure I’d imagined it.
“Listen, Sawyer. Forget that guy. He’s a jackass.”
“How do you know? You never even met him.”
“I don’t need to meet him. He had a chance to be with you and he blew it? Fuck him. He’s a jackass.”
“Thanks.” It made me feel a little better, even if it wasn’t true.
“You’re welcome. Can I watch the game now?”
“In a minute.” I flopped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Do you think I’m destined to be alone because I keep prioritizing my work over my relationships?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
I frowned. “That’s not the right answer.”
“What’s the right answer?”
“The right answer is, ‘When you meet the one perfect love of