There is a world out there and so much to see in it. I couldn’t travel the way I wanted to if my exes had been the kind to stick around.
The kind I wanted to stick around.
And especially if you’d been the kind of guy who wanted more.
That was never in the cards for us.
So I say, if you want to be Douchey Ex Number Four, I welcome that. I’ve got labels printed out. You can wear a sandwich board stating that you’re Douchey Ex Number Four—and proud of it.
We’d grab a pint someday and probably even laugh about it, except we both prefer martinis.
Because you and me? We know what we are to each other. We know that the world needs more sexy ex-boyfriends so we can achieve our dreams.
May we learn lessons from all kinds of exes—from the jerks, from the timid, from the crazy, from the ones we just didn’t love enough, and from the ones who didn’t love us enough.
They teach us about ourselves.
And I’m still trying to achieve all my dreams.
So I say thank you, Douchey Ex Number Four, for being the sexiest ex-boyfriend of all.
My best,
Summer
I finish, feeling naked, exposed, but hopeful that it says everything I want to say, and that Stella will like it.
Hopeful that The Dating Pool will love it, because winning this could tip me over the edge with my new venture.
“It’s . . .” Stella begins, but doesn’t finish.
“It’s terrible? That’s what you were going to say? Or it’s a brilliant scheme and a terrific chance to nab some extra money if I win. And if I win, I would use it to add a self-defense class to the roster, and that’s precisely what my gym needs.” My words are like froyo spilling out too fast and overflowing from the sample cup.
She laughs sweetly. “I was going to say I think it’s a brilliant scheme and a lovely letter. And I actually think I get it now.”
My brow knits. “Get what?”
“You and Oliver. Your connection. I think I understand it in a whole new way.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do. I kind of get why you’re not interested in testing my theory. I understand now why you always say nothing will happen.”
“Thank you,” I say, warmth and happiness bubbling up in me. “It’s so easy to think because we’re good friends that a romance is inevitable. But that’s not in the cards.”
“Yeah, I see that now,” she says, sounding introspective. “I guess it’s human nature to want to ship two pretty people who spend so much time together.”
“And now you understand why there is no Sumiver Ship or Olimer Ship.”
“More proof you’re right. Your names are horribly un-shippable.”
“There you go.” I smile, thanking her, then hit submit.
Even though, I suppose, a small part of me still wonders about the accuracy of her theories.
But just a small part, I swear.
11
Summer
On Monday, I watch as Loan Officer Electra nods thoughtfully, takes a beat, then smiles. “You present a very compelling argument. And honestly, I’m counting the days till your gym opens.”
Must not crawl across the desk and tackle-hug the world’s coolest loan officer.
Instead, I sit ramrod straight on the edge of the leather seat, beaming. “I’m so glad you feel that way. I’ve lined up my final teachers too, to make the classes amazing. Seniors have different needs than other age groups and want a gym where they feel comfortable and welcome. Providing that can increase health in the golden years. I found a Zumba teacher who specializes in catering to seniors. I have a spin-class instructor who’s the best in the biz. I even found someone to teach kickboxing to older adults.”
I’m giddy, but professionally giddy. That’s a thing. “This is going to be so good for health and fitness and longevity. In time, we can reduce medical costs and reduce insurance needs. It’s going to be great,” I say, unable to stop giving my pitch to her on why fitness for life matters.
But the curly-haired woman with the hawklike nose seems to need little convincing. “I know! I can’t wait to sign up my dad. He is going to love it. He’s jonesing to do kickboxing.”
Just like Stella’s grandpa. Yes! This gym is filling an unserved need. And I am going to call my instructors the second the ink dries. They are going to flip.
“Thank you, Electra. I’m glad you feel that way. I can’t wait to let my instructors know it’s a go,” I say, nerves winging through my body as I adjust the pencil skirt that feels like a costume, since I don’t usually wear navy skirts and silk blouses.
Except when begging for money.
But that ends today.
Humming, Electra drums her fingers on her oak desk, flashing a cheery smile in my direction. “They are going to be ecstatic. And we simply can’t wait to hear how it goes.”
