Taylor Swift wakes me up the following day.

It seems the queen of pop wants to remind me that no one is asking me to just say yes. It's not her fault I chose that song as my ringtone, but it still feels taunting today. The song finally fades as whoever is calling this early on New Year's Day wisely stops. 

I pull the soft velvet eye mask from my face, shielding my eyes as they adjust to the bright sun shining from the glass door leading to my little balcony. 

Now that I've given up on love, I guess I'll have to change my ringtone. What era should I enter next? Maybe Red, no... I did Red recently. Midnight maybe? We all know that was a breakup album now. 

But it's not a breakup with Thad, is it? We never even saw what we could be before that evil redhead got between us.

I'll switch it to Bieber's song Lonely; that should fit my twenty-twenty-four vibes. Someone doesn't agree when Taylor's muffled voice comes through the apartment again. 

"It's New Year's Day people sleep!" I yell grumpily from my bed at whoever it is.

Then suddenly, my eyes shoot wide open. What if it's Thad? What if he realized he made a terrible decision and regrets it now!?

I nearly fall off my daybed, which is actually a pullout bed from my couch. When you live in a small space, everything has multiple purposes, like my dresser, which is also TV stand, or my end table, which often serves as a dinner table, and my chair and or laundry basket. 

Someday, I'll be so rich that each room will have its own purpose.

My cell phone continues singing, and I go in search of it.

 I assume my purse is somewhere under a pile of clothes on my floor and my phone is in it. I kneel over the pretty teal, pink and purple checkered rug I had to have as I search. It matches my lavender couch, yes, lavender. The perk of being a girl living alone is that my entire apartment is done in feminine, girly colors. I got to choose it all, with the help of Candice and Melanie, of course.

Where is my damn phone? I chuck a sweater across the room as I search.

I have to pee so bad, but it could be Thad calling, and I need to know.... The song stops, and I grumble, but luckily, I see my faux coach hiding under an old blanket just as it stops. 

I frantically pull the phone from my purse and lunge for the bathroom.

Melanie was the one who called twice; not Thad. My heart drops that I was wrong. I make a face at my phone and set it on the vanity as I brush the nasty morning breath from my teeth.

I don't look half bad, considering. My hair is still almost straight from my blowout yesterday, aside from a few flyways, and my makeup is only slightly smeared. A quick face wash makes me look pale, and my eyes are puffy but not too frightening.

I didn't stay out that late. I was too heartbroken to have any fun, so I came home. I was going to have a bingey-pity party with my four favorite pretty little liars. Only to find out Netflix took it down! After that, I had a meltdown and cried myself to sleep. I know it's just a show, but I needed one thing to go my way last night.

I grab my favorite hoodie from the laundry basket it's hanging out of and pull it on. It's a black sweatshirt three sizes too big with a logo that says DE and Associates. Some company, I assume. I found it on the bus one day and took it home.

I know, gross, but I washed it, so don't get too judgmental. The thing is all girls have a favorite sweatshirt from an ex or a current lover. It's not fair that I don't.

I never stayed with anyone long enough to be gifted a sweatshirt. So, when I saw this on the bus, I thought... maybe it's my yellow umbrella.

Like in, How I Met Your Mother, Ted keeps finding things that belong to the mother, like this yellow umbrella, in all these random places. Then, when he meets her, he has the yellow umbrella, and she says it's hers.

Maybe this sweatshirt belongs to him, my soulmate. It could be my very own, How I Met Your Dad, story!

"Riss? You home? You okay?" I hear Melanie and roll my eyes as I leave the tiny bathroom. Room enough for a shower stall, a tiny vanity, and a toilet, and the cold tiled floor is all chipped up. But at least it's all mine; when Melanie and I roomed together, she drove me nuts with all her crazy demands. She even expected me to put my makeup away every day. Makeup! It belongs on the vanity. 

"Mel, why are you here?" I ask. 

I step out to the tiny living and kitchen space and Melanie is standing in the kitchen area, it's the first thing you walk into. As such, the counter has become a catch-all for literally everything. It curves in though at an L making a little island to sit at which is nice. 

"I was worried about you. You called me last night and left a voicemail; you didn't sound good." Melanie studies me worriedly. "Something about how you aren't even good enough for an anonymous stalker?"

"A," I explain with a short nod. 

"A what?"

"No, A," I say again. "You know, random text messages, black hoodie, red coat."

"A black hoodie or a red coat?"

"Good question because black hoodie had a totally different body type than red coat, but supposedly its–"

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"A!" I exclaim.

"I am so confused," she says.

"Netflix took Pretty Little Liars off," I explain. "A, the crazy stalker who tormented the girls for years, ring a bell?"

"I never got past the first season of that," Melanie says, and I gasp, clutching a hand to my chest as I reconsider our entire friendship.

"Get out," I joke as I point to the door, and she laughs. 

"You seriously had a breakdown over a TV show getting removed though?" Melanie asks. 

"It's not okay, Mel. It is not just a show," I say. "It's a comfort blanket, in a way."

"Stalking and tormenting are a comfort blanket?" Melanie questions with a slight tilt of her head, her blonde ponytail falling over shoulder. 

"It's not just about the stalker! It's about friendship, relationships, and shoes!"

So many great shoes... 

"This isn't about a TV show and we both know it," Melanie guesses. "Obviously, things didn't go well last night with Thad."

"It's not just Thad," I whine. "It's all men; there is no one in the entire state of Minnesota left for me. I can't afford to move, so I guess I have to give up on love. It's over for me."

"Riss. Just stop that. I'll make some coffee and–" She stops as she approaches the sink, and her face crinkles up. "What is that smell? Is it coming from the dishwasher?"

"Don't open it!" I scream in horror as her hand reaches the handle.

"Whoa!" She jumps back like she was burned. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's broken," I say. "But the dishes in there are going to stink. I meant to wash them, uh... yesterday."

And the day before that and well last week and.... with the holidays and all, I've been busy.

"Why are they in the broken dishwasher all dirty?"

"In case anyone comes over, I don't want them overflowing the sink. I'll look like a scrub," I say as I kick my way through the floor full of clothes to join her in the kitchen. I sit on the bar stool facing the small island as I imagine the lavish home I'll have someday. I'll have maids then, maybe even one for each room, and messes won't exist anymore.

"Have you called your landlord?" Melanie pulls me from my daydream.

"No!" I say as my face reddens with shock; she cannot be serious! "He's like eighty. How desperate do you think I am?"

"To fix the dishwasher, Rissa," she says.

"Oh." Well, that makes more sense. "Um, not yet...but I don't want to bug him with the holidays and all."

"Call him," she stresses.

"It's New Year's Day!"

"Then call him tomorrow; it's literally his job to fix it," Melanie sighs as she opens my cabinet, shuts it, and whirls around to look at me. "You have no coffee cups left."

"We can drink out of glasses and use hot pads."

She blinks a few times, then says, "We're going to Grumpy's for coffee."

"I spent the last of my money last night," I groan. "I still have three days till payday."

"I'm buying, let's go," Melanie demands.

"Okay, give me five minutes!" I smile as I leap up and dash to the bathroom.

"You don't have to get ready. We're going to Grumpy's. No one is ever there," she yells from behind me.

"I won't be long, I swear. I just need to make it look like I just woke up!" I yell back.

***

An hour later, we are finally leaving my building; the sidewalks are already clear of the dusting of snow we got last night. So far, it's been a light snow year. We even had a brown Christmas, fitting, really. It set the tone for the year, I guess. 

I live downtown, but I'm not in the heart of it where all the bars and restaurants are. I'm a few blocks from there; my building and a few others are on this block. Other than that, there are a couple of old office buildings, a McDonald's, and a gas station that's boarded up and shut down, taunting us with old gas prices that we'll never see again.

At the end of the street, all on its own sits, Grumpy's. A hole-in-the-wall little coffee shop that's amazing and usually quiet as most people head out of the city in the other direction.

I changed into a pullover fleece with black leggings and tied my hair back into a low ponytail. I kept my makeup natural and fresh, other than my false eyelashes, but who leaves the house without eyelashes on? 

Besides Melanie, the blonde, blue-eyed beauty doesn't need a stitch of makeup to look great. Today, she's wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie and still looks like she walked out of a magazine.

"So, I'm assuming you met someone, if not several, someones last night?" I comment as Melanie, and I walk in.

"Several someones?" She shoots me a dark look.

"Not like that, I mean getting phone numbers," I say dismissively.

"I didn't take any phone numbers. I told you, I'm on my year off."

"You're totally insane. I can't believe you're still doing that," I say as we line up for our coffees.

"It's been good for me," she says, "No one to answer to. Doing whatever I want, whenever I want. Honestly, I'm enjoying it."

Melanie was with her girlfriend for a few years, and things were rough at the end. After the breakup, she decided to take a year off dating to regroup. I think she's nuts, but she swears she's happy.

She gives our orders to the barista: a double mocha with whip for her and a vanilla cappuccino with extra foam for me. We shuffle over to the side to wait for our coffees. When you sit -in this place does it old school and serves the drinks in real mugs. 

"Please," I scoff. "You're only enjoying it because you haven't been single long. Give it a few weeks, and you'll be calling Rachel at two am."

"Blocked her everywhere so that can't happen."

"Why are you so smart?" I complain in a loud, exaggerated tone.

"You are too, Rissa. So, block Thad, and while you're at it, any other recent Chads or Brads in your phone, too."

We grab our coffees and head towards a table. I notice a man hunched over a laptop. I look closer to see if he's cute, but Melanie pulls me past him to our table.

"I can't block Thad!" I nearly scream it.

"Why not? You said he's engaged, right? More than reason enough to block him."

"What happens when he realizes he's making a horrible decision and reaches out at three am!?"

"Then it'll be a good thing you blocked him, he's engaged," she says.

"She's an ex for a reason. He's going to regret it. I know he will."

"Riss, come on, you don't even like Thad that much."

"Then why am I so heartbroken? I could barely crawl out of bed this morning. I could cry right now!"

"Excuse me," a male voice interrupts, and I turn to see the guy in the corner looking up. He IS cute! he has curly brown hair that's just slightly overgrown and a handsome sculpted face, he could use a shave, but that's kind of hot. He has a pair of glasses on that showoff his deep green eyes. Something seems familiar about him, but I can't place it.

My lips curl into something of a grin, and I'm glad I took the extra time to get ready now, even if it annoyed Melanie. 

"Hi, there. You nursing a hangover, too?" I offer back as a light greeting making sure to flash a pretty smile, batting my lashes just a little.

"No," he says in a clipped tone. "Can you please talk a little quieter?"

"What?" I'm taken aback, and Melanie chuckles softly, so I kick her leg under the table.

"I'm working on something here. Can you please keep it down?"

"It's a public coffee shop, so no," I snap and whip around.

"Don't be so rude." Melanie scolds.

"He was rude first!"

"Well, you were yelling," she comments.

"Still are," he comments, and I nearly turn around and flip him off.

"So what?" I say, albeit quieter, "It is a public place."

"And he probably does have a hangover, so chill. it's not his fault you got ditched again," Melanie comments, with her usual bluntness, I wish Candice was here to nurse me through my heartache, she's nicer about it. 

"Don't say it like that!" Crap, I just yelled again.

"How should I say it then? It's the same thing again and again."

"Is not!"

"Yes, it is. You let yourself get a million steps ahead of where you are every time, and then when it doesn't work out, you're all heartbroken," Melanie says tiredly. "If anyone needs a year off dating, it's you."

"A year off dating is crazy and literally impossible."

"It is not. I'm on month three, and I meant it. I really like this. I'm getting to know myself in ways I didn't before."

"I know more than enough about myself."

"I'm serious, this would be really good for you. You hardly even like the guys you date," Melanie says as she sips her coffee. 

"I do, too, like the guys," I mutter as I sulk down some.

"Then why is it always, he's so great-but, or I love his hair -expect and on and on?"

"It's different when you date men. They don't come out of the box perfect. You have to mold them."

"Oh, for the love of-" The guy behind me mutters as he stands up, and I turn around to glare at him.

Damn, he is tall, really tall, and fit too. He sure fills out that sweater nicely. Too bad he's so rude! Why does he look so familiar?

"Case in point!" I gesture to him as I speak to Melanie. "Clearly, he needs a lot of molding."

"Rissa!" She scolds but laughs anyway.

"I'm not the grown adult carrying on in a coffee shop," he says, causing me to fire my angry gaze at him again. I give him my best stormy look, hoping it makes him shiver in fear.

"You have an eyelash on your cheek," he points out in a deadpan voice.

My cheeks heat up as I pick it off, damn it. And then he cracks the slightest smile, and I see it... that expression I know it. I know who this jerk-face is!

"Wait, I know who you are!" I stand up and take a step closer to be sure, and he takes a step back.

"You're that writer, Conner Fields," I accuse.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbles as he takes another step closer to the door.

"You are! Your picture was in the back of the book. I would know. I read it four hundred times!"

His eyebrows lift slightly at that. "So, you enjoyed it?"

"What book?" Melanie asks.

"No, I didn't enjoy it," I say and then direct my attention back to Melanie. "He wrote, Dating with a Purpose."

"Oh, so you are the one who broke my friend," Melanie scolds him, albeit playfully.

"Excuse me?" Conner asks. "Just how did I do that?"

"I am not broken, Mel. His stupid book is!" 

"My book is not broken," he snaps. 

"Oh yeah? I do everything, everything you say in that book, every single time. I always date with a purpose and look!" I shove my left hand towards his face, waving it around. "Do you see a ring here? Huh, do you? No!"

"No one wants to marry you? Wow, that's a shock," he says with a slight gleam in his eyes as he crosses his arms. 

"Because your book broke me just like Mel said, ever since I started following it nothing works out." 

"It has helped hundreds of people," he argues.

"Well, not me! And I'm a great dater too."

"If that was true, wouldn't you have a ring without needing my book?" He dares to say, and I start clenching my fists. 

"Riss, calm yourself," Melanie says as she places a hand on my shoulder. "The problem with your book is Rissa here takes it so literally. She goes into every first date thinking it will end up at the altar."

"That's the whole point, dating with a purpose!" I protest.

"That is not the whole point of it," Conner argues. "You totally missed the point."

"I did not miss anything! You said choose careful, like-minded goals, see the end in the beginning, or get out... don't waste time..." I start rattling things off as he stands there, looking annoyed.

"What about the part about knowing what you want in life now and in the future and making sure those goals align? Did you skip that part of the book?" 

"I make my goals line up with whatever his are, all that matters is the happy ever after," I say.

"You think it's that easy?" he asks. "You get married, the stars align, and everything is perfect?"

"Pretty much more or less," I say.

"Rissa," Melanie sighs.

"If you don't do the work on yourself first, you won't be happy in any happily ever after scenario," Connor says.

"I don't need any more advice from you. Three hundred pages was enough."

"Which you clearly didn't read it all, because you missed the damn point!" 

"I didn't miss the point," I deny with a huff. 

"Yeah, you did, it's not that different than what I just told you. It's good to get know yourself and be single, you need a break from dating," Melanie says. "You date like it's a sport and what's your longest relationship, three weeks, a month?"

As she's talking, Conner's eyes are starting to light up. What an ass! Who takes pleasure in someone else's pain?

"So, you're a serial dater?" Conner questions with a tilt of the head. "And it never works out?"

"Do you always go around rubbing salt in people's wounds?" I snip as I grab Melanie's arm. "Come on, Mel, let's go."

"Wait!" Conner's voice halts us in our tracks.

"What?" I sigh as I whirl around.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I think I need you," Conner says, causing my jaw to drop.