Not if you don’t put yourself out there, a voice admonishes in my head.

Garrett didn’t just fly into Leslie’s lap; she actively pursued a relationship.

Right, they met through a dating agency. I always thought that having an algorithm choose my life’s partner wouldn’t be romantic, but…

I pull up Leslie’s engagement ring photo again. What’s not romantic about this? Nothing, it’s perfect. What does it matter how they met? Zilch. Nada. Maybe I should ask Leslie the name of the agency… An irrational fear makes me shudder at the mere suggestion. One day… We’ll see.

I grab the remote and turn on the TV, shuffling channels until the screen shows Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze making pottery. I drop the remote on the coffee table and wrap myself in a blanket. A Ghost re-run is just the heartbreaking kind of movie I need tonight.

Tegan finds me a while later, unabashedly crying to the notes of Unchained Melody.

“Ghost, Mom?”

I look up at her, wiping a few tears off my cheeks. “I couldn’t resist.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “We need ice cream for this. Vanilla, or the heavy stuff?”

Our eyes lock, and we nod, saying in unison, “The heavy stuff.”

When she comes back from the kitchen with two bowls of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, I lift the blanket and pat the empty spot on the couch next to me. Tegan scoots right in, snuggling close to me under the blanket, filling my heart with love. Five seconds later, Priscilla joins us, curling up between us. I scratch the cat behind the ears, and she begins to purr.

Who said I need a man? Maybe my daughter and our cat are enough.

Said the sad lady who cries watching decades-old romantic fantasy thrillers.

***

Wednesday morning, at the office, I drum my fingers on the desk anxiously. I hate it when a client is late. My calendar is precise, scheduled, organized down to the minute. And, no, I’m aware not everyone is as punctual or efficient as I am, so I always keep a half hour buffer between appointments. But Mrs. Thomas is now officially forty-five minutes late. I sure hope she won’t show up now, expecting me to still receive her.

Well, her separation papers are ready to go; all that’s missing is her signature. I’ll FedEx them to her, and she can have them delivered back to me. Couriers, at least, are reliable.

I search for her number in her file and call her.

After the line rings forever, I’m connected to her voicemail.

“This is Mary. I can’t pick up the phone right now. Please leave a message and I’ll call you right back.”