She kept the pleasant look on her face and sipped hot, comforting tea, telling herself the past was past and she was here in hopes of starting her future—romantically speaking.
“Right. I understand. Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but you have the date next week to look forward to…” Marie bent to hit buttons on her computer and scanned the screen.
“With Ted. Yes. Okay, talk to you later. Take care. Bye.”
She punched off her phone. “That woman has gone out with and found something horribly wrong with practically every guy on our site. During our interview I thought she seemed a little wound-up, but I didn’t see this coming. She needs about a year’s worth of therapy, not a relationship.”
“Oof. Sorry.” Maybe Candy needed that, too. Or maybe she just needed another excuse to delay this moment.
“Anyway, this isn’t about her.” Marie came out from behind her desk and perched on the edge, beaming. “This is your time. We are going to find you someone absolutely fabulous.
How did you do on the sheets I had you fill out?”
“Dismally.”
“Hmm.” She held out her hand. “Let me see.”
Candy pulled the papers from her briefcase. “I couldn’t decide between answers. I think I checked all the options practically every single time. Do I like staying home or going out? Yes. Do I like old movies or contemporary? Yes. Do I like restaurants, bars, clubs, movies, museums or lectures for a favorite night out? Yes. What is more important, career or family? Both. And on and on. I’m hopeless.”
“Hopeless?” Marie took the papers. “Let’s call you well-rounded. Adventurous, open-minded, cosmopolitan.”
Candy conceded the point. “Yes, better term than hopeless. But when I got to the introductory paragraph I splintered completely. I felt I could put up four different profiles.”
Marie looked up from the papers. “What would you call those profiles? I mean if you had to classify them. What would those four different parts of you be?”
Candy blinked. She’d expected Marie to laugh, not put on her psychologist hat. “Well. One part of me is playful. Like a kid. The part that dresses up as Sally the Silly Fairy at kids’
birthday parties. So one part I’d call goofy.”
Marie reached back for a pad and pen and started writing.
“Child at heart. Go on.”
“Let’s see.” Candy sipped her tea, considering. “Another would be the part of me that likes to read, to do crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles, play Scrabble, to curl up in front of a fire with a glass of wine and a good book I can later discuss, to take classes in things I’d like to know more about. Call her…the Professor.”
“Professor.” Marie wrote it down. “I like that. Next?”
“Next…is the ambitious side of me, the part that loves organizing, planning, waking up every day knowing what I want to accomplish and knowing I will do it. Continually conquering challenges, beating back problems, making sure everything flows smoothly.” She frowned, trying to come up with a title. “Battle-ax?”
Marie pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Superwoman.”
“Superwoman!” Candy laughed. “That works, too.”
“Is that it?”
“Well…no.” Candy felt herself blushing and held the cup of tea close to her face. “There’s one more.”
Marie’s eyebrow raised. “Ye-e-es?”
“It’s the smallest part. I’m not even sure it really is a part of me, maybe just a fantasy.”
“I’m
listening.”
“The part that would like to get dressed up for an absurdly expensive restaurant, to travel to Paris, Monaco, ski the Alps.
To wear hot lingerie every day, and have the confidence to seduce a stranger in a bar merely by giving him the right look.”
“Hmm, yes.” Marie eyed Candy speculatively. “I can see her in you, but I don’t think you’ve indulged her yet. Chuck sure didn’t let you.”
Candy’s mouth dropped. “Didn’t let me? What do you mean? Chuck was very supportive of whatever I wanted to do and whomever I wanted to be.”