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⌞M I N D E L Y N⌝
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⌞♥⌝    My expectations that anything would happen at all after filling in the match-making survey and decent bio were titanic-level low. So, I wasn't surprised when hours had passed, the sun had already risen and set, and I had collected fifteen profile views, two questionable four-star ratings (that I'm sure Blake sent through bots since he had full access to my account to monitor in case I dipped out) and zero matches.

After a fourth round of swipes during a toilet break, I inspected my red fingers, especially my sore thumbs. It wasn't bad enough that my fingers started callousing from all the typing, so my thumb was on its way to falling off from all the swiping I had to do. I groaned aloud, "All the choices are as sketchy as those criminals running for office. You wouldn't catch me dead or alive at the dinner table or the ballot--"

"Hold up, bitch! You didn't register to vote!"

Her voice cut me off with a pitch that almost left me deaf for the rest of my time on this damned planet as I snapped back to reality. In my absentmindedness, I had forgotten to mute myself during a call with my dearest -- and loudest -- cousin before I took a quick piss. Her unwavering patriotism stemmed from a strong, paternal lineage of high-ranking veterans with multiple awards and prestigious titles. So, without a doubt, I was about to buy a hearing aid at the end of the earful I was about to get.

Dragging myself back to the workstation in the living room and switching from my EarPods to my phone's speaker to allow my eardrums to heal, she demanded my attention. "Mindelyn Sei Suberson!"

Though I wasn't excited about the lecture headed my way, a large part of me was grateful that I hadn't exposed the fact that I was on a dating app. With her hatred of non-traditional dating methods, she would've caught the next flight from Houston to Grand Rapids to terminate my account and murder me and Blake on sight.

"Layla, calm your tits," I groaned before slumping on the long leather couch and covering myself in my fluffy yellow fleece blanket.

It was one of the few things from my mother that I cherished, despite the rift between us, and smelled of roses and chamomile tea, a bittersweet combo like the past we shared and dreaded.

Something pinched my heart as I asked, "So can we not? You know I hate politics of any kind."

The short silence afterward showed we knew exactly who to blame for that. A good percentage of the nation did, especially those who had to bury loved ones as a result of everything.

"Listen, your father's family will need a real exorcism before any of them can set foot in America again -- and Blake, Michael, and I will make sure of it -- but does your country have to suffer for that." She strained herself from saying something and, after taking a massive breath in and out, she added, "Do you have to suffer for it?"

Her question tugged my soul a little. I sucked on my teeth, shaking any painful thought out of my head, and then pointed out, "What becomes of me doesn't change the blatant fact all the options for president are screaming red flags with a World War III starter kit in their mouths."

Between Layla's infuriating scolding and my increasing defensiveness, the front door clicked open and shut, revealing Mr. Rhyson in a grey shirt and neat slacks. The stethoscope I bought for him for passing his boards slung around his neck as he walked in holding a bucket of Korean fried chicken and some hangover medication. A gentle smile slipped on his face, finding me wrapped up in a blanket burrito on the couch in full debate mode.

"I don't care, Layla. Picking a candidate this round is like choosing which brand of 1-ply toilet paper to wipe your ass because whichever way you look at it, you're going to get shit on your hands, you delusional dupe," I deadpanned with a vicious eye roll, tempted to end the call.

"Dear God!" She gasped before shrieking, "Did you compare our future leaders to butt wipers? Are you even American?"

"Yes, but not by choice," I grumbled.

She ignored me and then stated, "Each vote counts, Mindy. Every. Single. One."

I retorted. "Cool. Are you quite done, Lady Liberty? Or do you plan on reciting our entire constitution next?"

"Depends, are you sane yet, traitor?" said Layla, just as tartly.

A chorus of best friend's snickers earned him my middle finger and a hushed 'Get lost!' Trying not to lose every brain cell from juggling Dr. Annoying and Seargent Badgering was slowly proving itself to be impossible.

"Are you going to use that?" He pointed at my closed laptop which sat in front of me, reminding me that he clocked out early to fix some stuff that I needed on it.

Our conversation during breakfast had completely skipped me as I mouthed, "Oh, yeah! Thanks a bunch!" while passing it over to him. Tucking the device under his arm, he dropped the dinner in the free space beside me before disappearing down the passageway to the bedrooms.

Nibbling a juicy thigh, I stretched my back and sighed. "Yeah, whatever, Layla. I'm not voting this year, and it's not a crime. Oh, and you can tell both our nosey mothers and her equally annoying brothers that for all I care."

Despite the tension between me and my parents, my mother's side of the family kept an eye on everything I did. While most stalked my social media, Layla was the only one with whom I felt safe enough to do weekly check-ins. Though a little bit of a pushy prick, she was the only blood family I could converse with without looking over my back over the past six years.

She laughed hard before taking another sip of her wine and saying, "And be the receiver of their rage? No thanks, that's a huge pass for this big girl. I'll just dish out crumbs about your graduation dinner with Mr. Panty-Dropper Rhyson. That should suffice those eavesdropping pigeons."

A little chuckle tickled my throat hearing Blake's nickname, but the sense of relief that washed over me was greater, prompting me to show her my gratitude, "Thanks, Layla... Seriously, you're an eagle among vultures."

"No problem, baby girl. Folks in our family are crazy—"

There was a brief pause when a faint mechanical motor started running. A second later, her security's sound system reported that the garage gate was opening.

I knew what was coming and disliked it. So, I asked with dampened spirit, "Is Michael back with the boys?"

"Yeah, sorry. I guess those dorks finished the comic convention downtown. Maybe I can try to catch you during lunch tomorrow?"

"I have a few interviews lined up, so I can't."

"Damn, ugh." She heaved a sigh. "I know we haven't chatted for a bit. I'm sorry."

"Layla, don't be. I'm just a bit selfish at times," I admitted. "You're a full-time mum and wife on top of everything at your clinic. I get it."

And I was a little depressed with job hunting, family matters, and a lot of other things. "We are all adults with our schedules and issues. Plus, Rhyson just arrived with our dinner. Someone has to entertain his ass."

"Oooh. No. I get it, spiritually. Mich is the same way," stressed Layla, making the both of us giggle like a bunch of middle schoolers. "Anyway, tell your sexy doctor friend I said hi and to put a ring on you already before someone snags you up, or you choose celibacy and start a cat farm."

Sometimes, it felt like I was talking to a wall. Shaking my head, I reminded her for the umpteenth time, "God, Layla, he's just a friend, and I hate cats. A farm of them sounds like hell."

"'Just a friend,' my Southern ginger ass. That's what Markie said about her roommate 'til they both got drunk enough to hanky-panky without a cover. The next thing, I'm wheeling her down the aisle looking like she is about to pop their baby at the damn altar."

I gulped. "That's, uh, graphic."

"It's called reality, Mindy," she corrected me. "And it might be yours too if you continue down Denial Avenue unless you decide to close your legs forever and join the forever-single parade."

My brows furrowed. "For the billionth time, being single isn't a death sentence; Blake is my platonic best friend, and he is taken!"

"Taken my ass," she snorted. "Monique is nothing but a cash cow to him and one with strong tsundere vibes and most likely has a record-high number of restraint orders filed against her."

She caught me off guard with that comment, and I chuckled until my ribs ached. Tears swelling in my eyes, I called her out, "Layla, you are so wrong for that," but damn, I agreed.

"Excuse you. As a woman of God, I speak only the truth," she attested before rambling, "Are you so blind to not see how that man looks at you and treats you? That's why she hates your guts and wants him to move out. You are her greatest threat. Tsk. Tsk. Bless his heart, I couldn't wait 15 years for such."

From how close our relationship seemed to outsiders, hearing this theory was part of my life. Of course, we loved each other, but not in the way others insinuated.

At least not for the past ten years...

I shook my head. This wasn't the time for such thoughts. Things of the past should remain there, especially those that were addressed already.

And even if there is a chance of him feeling that way, why is he so fixed on finding me a date? The math never added up.

The faint laughter of the children and Mich's impressive SpongeBob impersonation from Layla's end brought me back to the moment. "Tell the munchkins and Michy Boy I said hi."

"Fine, I'll go." Annoyance tainted her tone, especially when she went on to nag, "But the next time we speak, I want to hear about wedding prep –"

"Nah, bye bitch," I interjected, completely fed up.

Before either of us caught a breath, I hung up and allowed my mind to bask in the beautiful silence. Chucking my phone to the side, I sunk into my fleecy fortress and released a sigh loud enough to wake up my ancestors from their graves.

Lord, when will I ever find peace...

Feeling recharged, I wriggled out of my blanket fortress, scooped my stuff up, and hurried to my room, munching on another crispy drumstick on the way. To no one's shock, shirtless Blake was sitting nice and snug in my bed. However, instead of working on my laptop, he smiled at me eerily.

I froze. "What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Elbows digging into the small stack of pillows in his lap, he brought his arms together and held his freckled pretty-boy face in his hands. Fixed on me, his sharp emerald eyes changed into warm hazelnut from the neon fluorescent blue hue of a nearby lava lamp as he said, "Nothing much. You're cute."

Any other time, the tenderness of his raspy voice wiped my frustrations away and was a marshmallow melting in my mouth, delicately sweet and warm. However, with everything that happened the past 48 hours, something was up -- and he was definitely in the center of it.

"No, no, no! What did you do?"

His smirk came with a proud and sinister, "Magic, darling. Magic."

It was then I realized he had taken my laptop. I searched for it like a lunatic until a loud ding led me to the opened device perched on my desk. Inching slowly toward what felt like the end of the world, my fists tightened, and my body quivered. My eyes widened in horror as the screen's contents became loud and clear, making me drop my meat.

'Congrats, Miss Suberson! You've been super-matched!'

It was like I'd stumbled into a parallel universe where irony was the national language. 'Congrats, Mindy! You've been super-fucked!' the screen practically screamed at me as if it were announcing my enrollment in the world's most absurd game show. I slammed the laptop shut, half expecting confetti to burst out from the edges, before glancing over my shoulder to find Blake wearing a grin that gave me serious indigestion.

"You are a child of God, Mindelyn. You want to go to heaven...," I muttered, resisting the burning urge to throw the laptop out the window -- or better yet -- at the green-haired demon giggling away in my sheets. Violence was never the answer. However, in that moment, had I committed murder then, I would've been spared for the storm that was to come.

Ugh. Fuck me