Read Arms Wide Open: a Novella for Free Online

he’s not perfect for
me .
    I think my eyes might be getting misty,
so I hold up the scone with a smile. I stand on tip toe to kiss him on the
cheek and whisper, “Thank you, Jeremy. For everything. I never deserved you, so
I really hope you find happiness with Erica. Give her a chance.”
    My lips brush his ear lobe. I want to
offer one final kiss goodbye but I know I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Erica.
I hear him sigh, as if he knows what I’m thinking and wants it, too. He puts an
arm around me just briefly, but I back away. I can’t look him in the eye again.
    “You two crazy kids have fun tonight,” I
say, my voice too loud and full of false bravado. I throw on my game show
hostess smile again. It feels forced, but at this point it’s all I can manage.
I watch them walk out, hand in hand, listening to the door jingle as they go.

Don Juan Gone Horribly Wrong
     
    I plop down at my next assigned table,
set down the scone, and stare at the card in my hand. Its edges are folding up,
warping thanks to my sweaty palms and tendency to nervously crinkle it up in
clenched fists when I’m trying to dodge another panic attack. How much more
bizarre and stress inducing can this night possibly get? Yes, I needed to get
off the couch and do something with myself, but it seems like my efforts should
be met with something a little kinder than the universe’s sick attempt at a
practical joke.
    I stop mid-thought. Whenever I ask the
universe how much worse it can get, the universe brings it. I jinx myself every
single time. It’s like some cosmic force out there cracks its knuckles at me
and says, “Challenge accepted!” I focus on the card again and close my eyes,
waiting.
    The table shakes and tips in my
direction, and I hear the rustling of someone sitting down across from me. I
look up, and then sit back to take in Guy #3. I really hope he’s rocking the
hipster look in the extreme on purpose, because this guy’s buttoned up-to-there
plaid shirt and gray sweater vest make the eyeball guy look pretty hot in
comparison. This guy is wearing black horn-rimmed glasses without any lenses in
them, and his untrimmed beard is sparse and thin. It’s entirely possible we go
to the same stylist because he has my hairdo minus the blonde.
    “Oh, wait a minute!” His voice is rather
high pitched with a nasal pinch to it. He stands and takes off a canvas
messenger bag, tossing it over the back of his black wooden chair. As he does I
can see he’s pegged and rolled up his jeans, and he has on deck shoes sans socks. He’s skinny, so all his clothes practically fall off of him.
    He sits back down and leans forward.
“Hi, I’m Lennon.”
    “Aw, you’re named after my favorite
Beatle. I’m Lauren.”
    “I am. So glad you got the reference!
Some people have zero taste in music, you know?” He has a slight lisp, but it’s
not on my nerves. Yet. “It’s so great to meet you. I’ve been watching you all
night so I’m, like, stoked to meet you.”
    “I’m not sure if I should be flattered
or take out a restraining order.”
    He throws his head back and laughs like
it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. I cock an eyebrow and lean back.
Restraining order looks like it might be an actual possibility.
    “O.M.G., that is seriously the funniest
thing I’ve heard all night! You’re amazing!”
    “O.M.G.? Are you serious? We can speak
in acronyms now?”
    He laughs even harder, gripping his side
like he’s getting a cramp from running laps. My face falls and I close my eyes.
Feels like I’m getting punked by life right now. “Lauren, you are seriously too
much.”
    “Okay, then...tell me, Lennon, what do
you do?”
    “I’m 27 and I’m getting ready to start
grad school, after taking time off to explore my options. I think it’s criminal
that we should have to choose one career path and only study that one thing,
you know? Life is just too beautiful to have to limit ourselves by the boxes we
check on an aptitude