Wine in hand, with a heavy heart, Meredith seeks the kindness of her beloved to help her continue on.
“People read my articles while they sit on the toilet,” Meredith said matter of factly as she busied herself packing up the uneaten slices of cheese, apples, and strawberries, placing them back into a plastic takeaway container. She gently swirled the bottle of wine, peering through the opaque glass to see how much was left. There wasn’t much. She uncorked it, poured the contents into her glass, and took a long drink.
She turned her attention back to the blanket laid out on the grass. Connor’s muscular body was sprawled out across it, his hands laced behind his head while he laughed. She let her eyes wander. She resisted the urge to lay her body on top of his so she could run hands through his chestnut hair and feel his arms bursting through his long sleeved shirt as they closed around her waist.
“It’s true,” Meredith continued as she plopped herself on the blanket next to him, carefully balancing the wine glass so as to not spill any, “Websites like Squeeze are time fillers for when you’re bored at work or are on the toilet.”
She waited a moment so Connor could compose himself. “Hey, stop laughing! This is my life!” Meredith glanced at Connor out of the corner of her eye and saw his face change from amusement to seriousness.
“Sure, I’m living every writer’s dream. I write and what I write gets published, but writing articles counting down the 20 best beauty products 90s girls had in their caboodles and creating quizzes that tell you your celebrity soulmate based on three arbitrary questions hardly qualifies as living the dream. And don’t even say that writing for Squeeze pays the bills. Trading my soul for a paycheck hardly sounds like an even exchange.”
Before Connor could reply, Meredith’s cell phone rang, a shrill ringtone that she had selected just for her mother. She dug it out of her handbag and answered the call; her mother’s piercing voice audible before she got the phone to her ear.
“Meredith, where are you?”
Meredith pictured her mother standing in the bay window overlooking the street: her leather loafer clad foot tapping impatiently in sync with the ticking of the grandfather clock next to the door, waiting for her daughter to arrive.
“Well?” she demanded.
Meredith surveyed her surroundings. The new leaves on the trees, the perfectly manicured grass, a takeaway container of fruit and cheese and the empty bottle of wine. That’s when she noticed that the sun was setting and she was late. “I’m sorry, Mom, I lost...”
Meredith’s mother cut her off, “You lost track of time? Your sense of direction? Your damn mind? Never mind, how long until you get here?”
“Um… half an hour?”
“Fine.” Meredith’s mother hung up.
Meredith sighed and looked back at the blanket, but the Connor she had conjured was gone. All that was left was his tombstone.