It’s the one I grew up in, which is falling apart, but still standing. And fifty percent of the toilets actually work! （Which means exactly one working toilet, if anyone is counting.） Based on the uncomfortable look Ashlee is giving me, she knows the general state of my home.
“They like to see job security.”
“I have a steady job.” Steady-ish. Freelance can be up and down, honestly, but I have a few sites that pay well and don’t turn any of my posts down now. “And I’m an active member of the community.”
Mostly the Ladies Literary and Libation Society, a semi-secret and highly exclusive not-quite-book-club Ashlee and I are both members of. It’s not quite Fight Club where we can’t talk about its existence, but neither is it the kind of organization I would put on an official form.
“I don’t like to sugar-coat things,” Ashlee says, which is never a good start to a sentence. “Despite her history, Rachel has some advantages you do not. Her financial position is more secure.”
I wait, because it’s clear Ashlee has more to say. She doesn’t shift her gaze, though it is rife with apology.
“As much as I hate to say this—being married will work in Rachel’s favor. Coupled with the fact she’s Jo’s biological mother, this may hold sway with the courts.”
These words hit me like a bowling ball to the gut. People sometimes treat being single as though it’s a preventable condition, like a sunburn. I wish snagging a good man were as easy as waltzing into one of those candy stores with all the bins, scooping out exactly what I want, and then walking away with a perfect combination of exactly what I want.
Dating these days, especially while raising a five-year-old alone, is not as simple as swiping in whatever direction you’re supposed to swipe on some app. Especially in a small town. Even if there were more guys to choose from here in Sheet Cake, Pat ruined me for other men. Or all men.
My dance card is empty. Wolf Waters, who jokingly proposes to me once a week, is my only prospect. Considering he’s Billy’s younger brother, it’s a hard pass. Though I do applaud Wolf for being the only Waters to break the privileged, pretentious vibe the rest of his family wears like a crest. Wolf—whose real name is Walter—seems sweet, even if he gives off doomsday prepper vibes. He lives in his own underground bunker on a big piece of property where he runs Backwoods Bar, the semi-legal drinking hole Sheeters frequent.
I stand, ready to be done with this conversation, this topic, this whole day. Unsure whether I should shake Ashlee’s hand, I go into weird mode again and curtsy, giving her an elaborate wave.
Ashlee’s kind smile only makes me feel worse. “I promise you, Lindy—I will do everything I can.”
But will it be enough? I swallow down that question.
“Thank you.” And because I’m not done being awkward, I add, “I’ll be in touch if I find a spare husband by the side of the road.”
Yep, I made that terrible joke. Before Ashlee can respond, I bolt through the door and almost run into Kim, Ashlee’s assistant. She steps back, her brassy highlights glinting.
“Sorry! I was just going to see if you needed more coffee,” she says, holding up the coffee pot in one hand. “What’s that about you finding a husband?”
Kim graduated a few years behind me. She seems friendly but has that slightly too-eager-to-please thing going on. Not to mention she’s got a bloodhound’s nose for gossip.
“A husband? You must have misheard. I was definitely not talking about trying to find a husband. Though I’ve always wanted one of those husband pillows. Do you know the ones I’m talking about?”
From Kim’s blank look, she does not.
“They’re big and puffy, with arms you can sort of snuggle with—you know what? Never mind. Have a super awesome day.”