Miss Matched [COMPLETED]

15. Tayla

Ruby is on speakerphone, and I've drank three glasses of wine while I filled out this application. My conversation with Simon sent me spinning, and I've landed on the vet exchange site.

"This is a good idea, right?" I ask as I enter my practice details. "I'm not running away from something; I'm running to something. That's the difference."

"If you say so," Ruby says, the sounds of drilling and various dental instruments in the background. "Maybe you should save it at the end instead of submitting? Give yourself these three weeks before making a life altering decision."

"I'm tired of waiting." I tip back my glass, red wine slipping down my throat. "I should have done this instead of going to GameSetMatch."

"Look, I'm not going to disagree the matching software was glitchy with you." She takes an audible breath. "But you wouldn't be in a tailspin like this if you didn't still care about him a bit. You realize that, right?"

"Yeah, of course. For me, he's still..." I'm not admitting he's the closest thing to perfect out loud. I can't even believe I'm thinking it. Might as well jump off a cliff instead. I shake my head and sigh. "He freely admitted last night he's commitment shy and emotionally distant. Hello huge, flaming red flags, nice to see you again." I resume my pounding on the keyboard.

"He admitted that?" Something clatters in the background. "That's pretty self-aware."

"Sure, if he believes it. Or maybe enough women told him he's like that, so he knows that's how he comes across." The cynic in me is out in full force, fueled by almost a full bottle of wine.

"Did you think those things about him? Before the night you broke up?"

"No." My reply is quick, instinctual. I pour another glass of wine. The truth is more complicated. Should I have seen him in that light? Probably. Last night I laid in bed going over every conversation I could remember from our relationship.

He never brought up moving in together, marriage, any of it. Not once did he contradict me or suggest we slow down, but he didn't initiate those talks. I did. Whether or not my memory is playing tricks on me, I can't stop thinking about what Simon said. "Do you think I put pressure on Simon to ask me to marry him?"

There's a long pause on the other end of the phone. "Is that what you think?"

I hate when she goes into therapist mode. She's a dentist. She should just answer my question. I gulp down more wine and hit submit on my application. "Yeah," I admit. "Maybe I did."

Every time I recall one of our conversations though, I don't see my behavior as pressuring him so much as working off an assumption an engagement would happen. He never gave me any reason to believe it wouldn't. I rub my forehead and check the clock. Bed. A hangover at work isn't cool at my age. "I should go."

"Dinner tomorrow night?" Ruby suggests.

"Can't," I say, sliding deeper into the couch, my glass cradled in my hand. "New puppy for that shelter-therapy program...and Simon is bringing dinner here."

"He's getting a second dinner? Isn't it supposed to be lunch?"

"The puppy weakened me."

"Sure. It was the puppy. Call me if you need to decompress. Doesn't matter what time."

My heart expands at her words. She's never once let me down. "I will."

~ * ~

When he arrives, I'm not ready. Not ready for the way he takes up space in my little house; not ready for the way the rescue puppy dubbed Pixie, greets him; not ready for the thrumming tune of my heart, straining against my chest, desperate for more. More of what?