AllFreeNovel
Share Us
One
LUCY
What is my type?Fictional men.
If a man has a pulse, consider me no longer interested. I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t trust a man with a heartbeat…or black curly hair sticking out of a baseball cap in the cutest way. Those are the type of guys who will become your friend in middle school when their family moves into the neighborhood, start dating you in high school, and continue the relationship through college. That is until your senior year in college when you are vacationing withhisfamily, and his father takes pity on you and divulges that you are not his son’s only girlfriend. Tearing apart the world as you once knew it.
From that point on, I have exclusively reserved my love and admiration for the fictional men I read about in novels or see on the big screen.
Let’s be real—even TV screens are so large these days they can be considered big screens too.
Well, I suppose that heartbreak isn’t the only reason I have been single since college, I chose a field that kept meso busy I wasn’t interested in adding anything else to my plate. Having spent the last fifteen years of my life teaching in classrooms of varying grades with curriculum constantly changing and never being able to catch up with the endless professional development required, I had zero energy left to put into a romantic life.
That is beyond developing an intense love for the leading male characters I read about in novels.
How I envied the teachers who were able to maintain a work-life balance, but for me, it never came. That is why, this past June, I put in my notice that I would not be returning in the fall without a moment of regret.
Searching for a new job only took a couple weeks. I found a remote professor position at an international university. Now thankful I decided to pursue that master’s degree in educational psychology.
When the official offer came, I was provided with a list of countries in which I could work virtually. England was the first on the list, and I didn’t bother looking any further.
Living in London is a dream I never thought possible, and honestly, it still doesn’t seem real. At the age of thirty-seven, living a completely different life than I was six months ago. I have been finding myself. It’s been a month since I decided to move from my small hometown near Syracuse, New York, and I’m still a little unsure of myself. In a new country, city life has been an adjustment, but it is exactly what I needed.
I feel refreshed and more optimistic than ever, but the loneliness is starting to weigh me down. Sure, my friends and I are still in constant contact, chatting via multiple applications at once and Facetiming a few times a week,but nothing compares to a night with everyone on the couch under blankets, a glass of wine in our hands, and our favorite romance movies playing. I could call my mom again—surprisingly, she’s not gotten sick of my multiple calls a day…yet.
As I look out onto the busy streets of London, the view is ever-changing but also becoming reliable. Cars zip through the narrow streets while people crowd the sidewalks, moving in and out of different paths on their way to their next destination. A sight I’m so thankful to have, I could sit here and people-watch for hours, and sometimes I have.
Just then, my phone rings with a call from my best friend, Ellie, who works for a minor league baseball team back in the States.
“Hey, El! Don’t you have a game tonight?”
“Yes, I just wanted to say hi, and I missed you.” Her breath exaggerates her words, indicating she must be running around the ball field. Ellie and I met in grade school and clicked instantly. Aside from Mom, I’m the closest with Ellie. Neither of us has a sister, which has allowed us to develop a close bond over the years. Making her feel more like family than a friend.
“Aw, I miss you too.” I love these random calls from her. I miss her company just as much as I miss my mom’s. We’ve talked about her coming to visit once I am settled and after the playoffs, of course.
“Oh, and I saw the parasite at the grocery store today. He asked about you. I told him you were dead.” Her voice thunders with pride. The parasite, as my friends—not—so lovingly refer to my one and only ex-boyfriend, the onewho forced me exclusively into the arms of fictional men, John.
“Thank you, a gesture I always appreciate. Hopefully, this time, he believes you.” Yet, after the first one hundred times she told him, he still isn’t convinced.
“I’ve got your back, girl. Okay, gotta go,bye!” She always emphasizes the bye.
“Bye,” I respond before hanging up.
In an attempt to clear out each and every bad vibe clouding my aura, the move also provided much-needed distance from those who I no longer needed in my life. John was accurately nicknamed the parasite because he is the one guy who continues to stick around long past his welcome. Early in my teaching career, I wasn’t concerned about running into him because I barely left the house. Conveniently for John, the following summer, two mutual friends of ours began dating. He had continued to reach out to me, but once they had started dating, he had even more reason to try to be there whenever I went out with my friends. Another issue with my small hometown, there are only so many bars and restaurants.
As the years went by, the anger faded. I may have forgiven him because I didn’t have the energy to be upset any longer, but I never forgot and had no intention of getting back together. He did, however, work his way back into my regular social schedule. John became more of a matter of convenience, especially on those handfuls of lonely nights over the years. As much as I tried to tell him it was just a one-time thing, he always held out hope for us. I wish I had better judgment those nights, but it’s been years, and I have no intention of looking back.
Now, I find myself with a new career and the possibility of having time for a new relationship, that is, if I can get over my fear of getting hurt again and my deep commitment to my fictional boyfriends,who have yet to break my heart.I want a completely fresh start. I need a new setting for my story, a new location where I don’t have the evidence of my only attempt and failure at a relationship.
On this cloudy evening, I find myself spending another weeknight in my London apartment. It’s not big by any means, but big enough for me. Luckily, a furnished place was available when I was moving, which cut down on costs. The kitchen is set just inside the door, sharing the open space with my living area. With the modest size of the bedroom, I was surprised to find how spacious the bathroom was when I moved in. Sure, it’s not large enough for multiple people to shower at once, but I don’t feel cramped in it, either.
I’ve added my own personal touch with a few plants by the window in my living room and a TV to watch my favorite movies via streaming services. There is an empty corner that would be perfect for a bookshelf where I dream about seeing my collection of novels proudly displayed with bookish knickknacks all around them. Unfortunately, that will have to wait. It was too costly to bring all of those heavy books with me, but I did bring a few of the essentials I can’t live without and my e-reader, of course.
Looking over at the clock, I realize my mom will be expecting a call in about ten minutes. She will ask if I’ve made any friends, as she does each time we talk, but tonight I have an answer for her. I don’t have any newfriends for her yet, but I do have a plan. My phone buzzes, and it’s a text from her.
Mom
Hi Honey, I can’t video chat tonight, I’m still in the waiting room at the groomer.
