A Stef in the Right Direction: Chapter 1

Stephanie never expected her unassuming, long-distance virtual boyfriend Timothy to just show up unannounced, especially since they had an entire ocean between them. But he was in her city now, whether she was ready for it or not, and she would have to figure out what she really wanted in life… among other things like kissing, flirting, and what not to wear on dates.

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His name was Timothy. He was one of those randos who popped out of nowhere in DateMe, and who I’d dreaded was going to abandon our conversation the moment I admitted that I wasn’t open to making love, virtual or otherwise. But he turned out okay, though he often took forever to reply and work usually made him a grouch.

Not that I was any different, really. I was 29 (shh or you’re dead!) and I already held a supervisory position in a large multinational company. Partly because of my ambition, but mostly out of need. I was the youngest of three sisters, but I was the one who paid the bills. My eldest sister got married in record time and migrated to New Zealand with her nurse husband, while my other sister decided to travel the world before even lasting six months on her first job. That left me with the dirty work, in this side of the world where family was a big deal and families were as big as your neighborhood. It was a noble but unfortunately unglamorous calling.

The worst part? My parents pined for them, not me.

So most days I was also a grouch, and when Timothy and I happened to be online at the same time, it was a sparring session of grouchiness.

Uh, “tell me about it” was supposed to be rhetorical and I was totally being sarcastic, but he kind of missed the point and ruined my mood further by ranting about how everyone got into his nerves that day. It was not the best lunchtime conversation, but it was better than nothing. I usually ate lunch in the office cafeteria, either alone, or with my best friend who was engaged and talking nonstop about it.

“I was looking at this dress on Pinterest, and OMG,” Andrea gushed, as she often did when it came to pretty dresses. Or anything pretty, really. “It’s the prettiest little dress—”

I was genuinely concerned. “Aren’t they going to drag you out of the church for wearing something too revealing?”

“Oh, no, I’m not wearing it. You are!”

“… Why?”

She snorted, like I was asking her a stupid question. “I don’t need a revealing dress because I’m the one getting married, but you’re still up for grabs in the market. And no one wants to run a garter up your leg if you’re all wrapped up like a taco!” Yeah, she bugged me nonstop about my lovelife, too. I knew she meant well, but I hate her sometimes.

Oh, right. Back to Timothy showing up in person.

We weren’t a couple, exactly. In fact, I wasn’t sure what we were. Friends, definitely, because we talked often enough, and sometimes a little bit more than friends, because he’d opened up several things about his life. Like how his parents were divorced and he’d been surviving on his own. That actually resonated with me. And I was sure he was a real person, because we videocalled on DateMe, and Andrea taught me how to stalk him on Facebook. He looked like what he said he looked: dirty blonde hair, and eyes of dazzling blue (well, he didn’t say dazzling, but you get the drift).

After a month of semiregular message exchanges, he mentioned that he wanted to come see me. Naturally, I didn’t believe him. A one-way plane ticket alone would cost a fortune, and he was what, a truck driver? My heart sank, because I knew where it was going: like my family, he was going to make me pay for it. What was new? (I told Andrea about it at some point, and she screamed, “SCAM!” But I didn’t believe her either.)

It took a while before I mustered the courage to ask how he could possibly afford it. I guess I was afraid of what his answer might be, both if he somehow had the means to do it, and if he didn’t. And more importantly, I guess I was afraid of why he was doing it. We’d only been friends for a month or so. I’d never really told him much about myself, because all I did was pry into his life or shut him out when he was actually saying something. Could he really have developed some feelings for me? I didn’t trust myself to be lovable, even likable. If I was, I wouldn't have a No Boyfriend Since Birth placard metaphorically stuck to my forehead and broadcasting 24/7.

So I was preparing to go to work that morning when my intercom rang. I didn’t hear it at first; I was lamenting the fact that I had too many clothes and absolutely nothing to wear. But after throwing on a pair of slacks, it struck me that it was my intercom, and I stumbled over (literally) to get it.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Ma’am.”

It was the guard. I paused, thinking if I was supposed to be getting a package or something that morning. “Yes?”

“You have a visitor.”

My stomach somersaulted. “Who?”

“He says his name is Timothy, Ma’am.”

All it took was for him to say Timothy’s name and my internal organs exploded into a frenzied circus show. I could feel my insides doing backflips and tightrope walks and my mind turning itself over and over like a hamster wheel, trying to process what was going on and not knowing where to start.

“Ma’am?”

I had to say something, anything, but my thoughts were going haywire.

1. How did the guard know I was still home?
2. I forgot if I sent that meeting invite. Did I send it? Or was that the time I closed my laptop to go to my next meeting (4th of 7, hurrah) and when I opened it the invite was gone?
3. HEAVEN HELP ME IS TIMOTHY REALLY HERE?
4. I’m hungry. And I feel like retching. Ohhhh my stomach feels so bad!
5. I was supposed to buy soap last night.

“Ma’am?”

I felt as if the walls of my tiny unit were closing in on me, and I couldn’t breathe. Last time I checked, I wasn’t claustrophobic. Or was I? Why was it suddenly very cold? Was a storm coming?

Looking back, I should’ve faked it. Told the guard I wasn’t feeling well, that I’d caught something contagious and I wasn’t seeing anyone for a while. But then that would’ve meant I would’ve had to skip work, which I couldn’t afford to because I still had so much to do, and if I didn’t show up at work, my backstabbing officemates would definitely make me the topic of the day. I could already imagine them dissecting me like a frog, poking at my imperfections and discovering the hollowness that lay at the core of my poor little soul.

I ended up saying, “I’m not here. Bye!”

I threw the intercom on my bed, put on the first blouse I could get my hands on and a mismatched pair of socks (which I didn’t notice until lunchtime in the office when Andrea pointed it out), ran out of my unit and down five flights and out through the fire exit, and never looked back.