"He's so cute."

"Then message him!"

"He's got a girlfriend, Candy."

"So?"

Annabelle stared at Candy in disbelief. "So? So? He's in a relationship!"

"So am I. That doesn't stop me from smacking booties at the club every night."

"Wait? Really? You have a partner?"

"Oh, yes, dear. I'm in a committed relationship with my own shepherd pie recipe."

It was moments like these that made Annabelle almost horrified that her best -- and, perhaps, only -- friend was the sixty-two year old woman from next door. While her name was officially Candace Westman, she insisted on being called "Candy", and for some reason, that was the least strange thing about her.

For one, her apartment felt like it was from the 1900s. Richly carved mantels, plate-glass clocks, and chimes dangling over each doorway. There were strange taxidermy animals along the manels -- a kitten, a horse, a dog, and a monkey -- surrounded by silver goblets that smelt of wine.

Pitchers. Candles. Vases.

Even a freaking fireplace.

And the crystals. They were everywhere in the room -- strewn along the thick rugs, hanging along the walls, and glistening along the dozens of rings on the old woman's hands.

She had spent her life being a "prophet", apparently. And, every evening, she insisted on forcing Annabelle to listen to strange readings of her future.

"Are you ready?" Candy asked.

Annabelle sank into the strange settee, watching as Candy lit up some candles and dripped some wax onto her wrinkled wrist.

"I guess?"

The old woman stood over her, tracing her finger along Annabelle's hand. She made small hums, her eyes closed, her bangles clanking.

"Alright, dear," Candy began. "You need to avoid people with blue hair."

Annabelle made a face. "Gee, that will be hard."

But Candy ignored her. Instead, with her strange humming and circular hand motions, she nodded thoughtfully.

"If you make a cat meet a demon, the demon will probably be more confused than the cat."

"What?" Annabelle said.

"Now, let me get the sage..."

"Candy! I'm serious. You can't just say weird things about cats and demons and not explain it."

Candy opened her eyes. They were nothing short of magical -- clear and pale, like a lake.

"Let me translate," she said with a sigh.

"Finally."

"We can't change the world through controlling our surroundings..."

Annabelle's brows propped up. For once, Candy's reading was making sense to her.

"...but," Candy continued, "you can change the world by suffocating ourselves as individuals."

"What? Candy, that's dark."

The old woman was cackling now. "I tire of this, Annabelle. Show me your strange touching phone. I want to see the boys."

Somehow, it had become a weekly thing for them. Every weekend, Annabelle would walk to her neighbour, get a palm reading done, followed by both of them going through men on Tinder.

It was strangely therapeutic, actually. Especially since Candy's reactions were often even more critical than her own.

"This one has three men in the pictures," Candy pointed out, squinting down at the phone. "Is it a package deal? All three at once?"

Annabelle winced. "No. Sometimes people just put pictures of themselves with their friends."

"Ah, so that you don't know which one you're signing up for. I like it. Adds mystery and drama."

"I usually avoid them."

Another swipe. Another scrutinising stare from Candy.

It was some guy in full skiing gear -- complete with a helmet, gloves, and protective glasses. It was an action shot, too, of him swerving down a mountain blanketed with snow.

"This one likes skiing!" Annabelle pointed out.

Candy shook her head. "But his face is hidden behind the helmet."

"True, but skiing is fun. What if he takes me on a date on a snowy mountain?"

"What if he has blue hair beneath his helmet?"

"I'm swiping yes, Candy."

"If he has blue hair..."

Annabelle ignored Candy's warning stare. Instead, she showed her the next man in the queue.

Instantly, Candy made a face. "His hair is in a knot."

"It's called a man-bun."

"It's ugly."

"I think it's kind of cute."

"Well, Miss Annabelle, I think it looks like my mother's--"

Candy never got to finish, for they were interrupted by a buzz from the phone.

It's a match!

"I matched with the skiing guy!"

"Ask him if he has blue hair."

"I should at least say hello first."

Candy gave her a warning look. Annabelle threw her hands up in surrender.

"Okay, fine!"

Do you have blue hair?

She shouldn't have been surprised by the instant response, considering they had just matched at the same time. Still, it made her jump.

Hahaha

That's the first time someone has asked me that

Instantly, Candy snatched the phone from her, typing her own reply.

u didnt answer the q

is it a yes or no

"Lord, your typing is appalling," Annabelle said, grabbing the phone back. "Aren't grandmas supposed to have good grammar?"

Candy rolled her eyes. "Do you think I have the time in my life expectancy for perfect grammar?"

"Candy!"

The old woman chuckled. "Lighten up, Annabelle! It's a joke."

A ding from her phone. They both stared down.

hahaha yes i actually did dye a bit of my hair blue. it's kind of fading now lol

"Candy! Look!"

"What--" Candy paled. "Oh my god. He does have blue hair. Unswipe! Unswipe right now!"

"He's going to think I'm crazy!"

"So? He's probably never seen you in his life, and you'll never have to see him. Look. He skis. He probably lives in Antarctica."

"Okay, I..." Annabelle went to click the block button when his next message came through.

hey, don't u work in that bowling alley?

"Shit."

"Show me," Candy demanded. Then, peering over Annabelle's should, she paled. "Oh. Yeah. Shit."

"Now what?"

sorry if that was creepy lol. i promise i'm not a weirdo.

With a sigh, Annabelle began to type.

It's okay! I've gotten weirder lol.

really?

Yeah. My last date on Tinder tried to convince me he was ten years younger than he was, and used fake pictures of some model to get me to go on a date with him.

oh shit really? that's shit

Yeah, it sucked! But that's okay. You had any bad dates?

yeah. my last date and i had ice cream, and she got some peanut butter flavoured thing. and she learnt on that same date that she was allergic to peanuts

Oh shit. Was she okay?

she lived, dw. but told me it'd take her a while to go on another date lol

Candy cleared her throat. "You're thinking about going on a date with him, aren't you, Miss Annabelle?"

"Maybe."

Something else caught the prophet's gaze. She tapped on Annabelle's phone, flicking it back, so she could see the list of matches. Then, she pointed at the one man underneath that glowing golden tree, with his dark hair and easy grin.

"Who is that again?"

Annabelle felt her face burn up. "The Italian waiter I told you about."

"You're right. He is cute. Could you set me up with him?"

"He has a girlfriend, Candy. I already told you this."

"What does she have that I don't have?"

Annabelle considered pointing out that Candy was forty years older than him. Instead, she just shrugged, saying, "For a start, his current girlfriend isn't in a committed relationship with a pie recipe."

"Well."

"Well?"

Candy, for once, seemed at a loss of words. Instead, she grumbled something about the youth acting too sharp.

Annabelle turned back to her phone.

She wanted to message him so badly. But she just knew that his voice, his humour, his softness -- it would all charm her to a place she couldn't be. To a place that would hurt.

Instead, she went back to the skiing guy.

Hey, so what sort of music are you into?

Two weeks later, she was fully invested with the blue-haired ski guy -- Bryan, his name was. Meanwhile, the Italian waiter was out of her mind completely. She didn't once think about his gorgeous eyes or his chiming laughter or his sweet dimples.

Not once.

Not at all.

Maybe.

Hey Bryan, are you free this weekend? I would love to go on a date if you're ready?

sure haha any places in mind?

She hadn't thought that far. But her fingers were typing on their own accord.

Do you like Italian food?

She got there early.

It was completely different to her date with Al. Instead of her ragged overalls and sloppy hair, she had thrown out her hair into waves, and was wearing a long, soft skirt.

And though she knew that any hope with the Italian waiter should have been banished from her mind, she couldn't help but sink in her chair when she couldn't see him anywhere.

So, she toyed with the red tablecloths. Glared at the cherubs. Let the smell of wine and cheese surround her.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late. I couldn't find a park."

Bryan.

For the past three weeks, they had been exchanging pictures. And, glancing over at his square jaw, blue eyes, and long blond but slightly blue hair, she felt a wave of relief.

At least he looked like the pictures.

And his hair was nice with the blue.

"Five minutes late," she said, smiling. "That's nothing compared to the last one."

"How late was he again?"

"Half an hour."

"Gross."

"Right?"

He frowned, adjusting his denim jacket. "Oh, no, I meant the..."

She followed his gaze to the table, where a small basket of garlic bread sat.

"Oh," she said. "You don't like garlic bread?"

"Not really, no."

"Are you a vampire or something?"

He didn't laugh. "I just don't like garlic. I don't like kissing with smelly breath."

Annabelle's eyes widened.

Whoa.

Kissing on the first date?

Did that mean he expected her to not eat the garlic bread, as well?

Probably.

Either way, Annabelle didn't care. Instantly, she grabbed a piece and stuffed it into her mouth.

Still, though.

Someone who didn't like garlic bread?

That had to be a red flag.

They went on weekly dates after that.

On the next date, they went to the movies. And while she cried as two actors kissed in the rain, Bryan fell asleep on the arm rest.

They went out for coffee after that. He brought his laptop, though, to do his college work. And though she tried to talk to him, he was in a whole new realm of statistics and data.

Another time, they went for a walk, only stopping when Annabelle found a dead bird on the footpath.

"Can we bury it?" she asked.

He gave her a bewildered stare. "That's weird."

She hovered there. Staring down at the bird as he strolled away.

"Come on," he called out. "Let's go."

And she stepped over the bird and chased after him.

But when their dates were good, it was good.

Like when Bryan kissed her -- it was feverish and hot and lush. His hands trailed her body so desperately, with no hesitation or thought.

Or that one time, when she had rocked up to their date in a dress that hugged her waist. His jaw had actually dropped, and for a whole minute, he just stared and stared and called her beautiful until she had put her finger against his lips.

Good days and bad days. Just like every relationship.

She wondered if her favourite Italian waiter had good days and bad days.

She wondered if he ever thought about her.

Just like she always thought of him.

Bryan showed her his workplace one night. Apparently, he and his father sold milk for a living -- and he took her to the shop, surrounded by columns of blue fridges that illuminated the room in neon blue.

"We have every type of milk here," he told her. "Almond. Skim. Goat. Want to taste?"

Annabelle shivered. Her short dress had not been prepared for a store room of milk bottles and freezers. "No thanks."

"What, are you lactose intolerant?" he said with a snigger.

"What if I said yes?"

"Lactose intolerance doesn't exist. That's just for wimps."

Annabelle tilted her head to peer at him as he leaned against a fridge. "What do you mean?"

"It's not a real thing," he explained. "I think people just say that they are to be special, when really they just have bad digestive control or whatever."

"Well... I have lactose intolerance."

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"You are."

She raised her hand. "Bryan, I'm not joking."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

He shrugged. Checked his watch. "I should go. I have classes tomorrow."

That made Annabelle perk up. His classes always excited her -- to see him talk about something he cared about, and to learn about what it would be like when she eventually did save up enough to study, was enough to make her smile.

"How are classes going?" she asked.

Bryan rubbed his temples. "Busy. Stressful. We have a big essay due next week about some stupid politician. And I haven't started. I just don't know if my thesis even makes sense."

"What is it? Maybe I can help tell you if it makes sense."

"Oh, you won't get it."

"Why not?"

"You've never been to college. How could you get it?"

Annabelle flinched back at that.

Is that how he saw her? A girl who didn't go to college?

"I'm not stupid, you know," she said softly.

There was a flash or irritation on Bryan's face. "I never said you were. Jeez. Chill." Then, glancing down again at his watch, he added, "Anyways, I'm gonna go. I'll catch you on Friday, hey?"

He gave her a peck on the cheek and walked her out of the store.

Then, with the stars shrouded by the clouds above them, he jumped into his car and drove off.

Annabelle just watched his car zip away.

It was then that she realised that she just wasn't happy.