Designing Destiny – Ch. 01 (Tier 2+)

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of reasonably cute looks must be in want of a date.

Fern blinked back to reality, brushing away the pesky line of her own private, twenty-first century Austen fanfic from her brain. Across the table from her, the guy she'd come here with was smiling expectantly – a smile that was slowly melting into polite puzzlement as the silence grew. He was waiting for… something…

"Oh, um… what? S- sorry," she stammered, flushing as she realized her date had indeed been waiting for her to respond to his question. "I, um… I must've spaced out a bit-"

"Don't worry, it's fine!" he assured her, and somehow his handsome smile and kindly eyes had a way of making Fern feel that he truly meant it. "I was just asking if you had room for dessert? They've got a really amazing apple cinnamon crumble, if you're into that…"

"No, no, it's fine," she hastened, crumpling the thick fabric of her napkin silently in her lap. Ugh, she didn't want to draw this out! He was so nice… and super sweet. Good looking, either. Practically every single girl in their office had been gossiping about how cute the new IT guy from the branch office was – how strangely un-nerdy – how much of a catch he might be. She'd listened in silence, musing that he sounded like exactly the kind of guy that her mom would love her to marry. And then – surprise of all surprises – he'd actually dropped by her desk earlier this week… flashed that fetching smile… wondered if she was free this weekend…

Hang on… what was his name again?

"No, really, um… James!" James, that was it! "No, I- I mean, it was super good and all! I just- it was so tasty, it- it filled me up-"

"Relax, it's all good," he smiled simply, and glanced around with an easy nod at the nearby waiter. "I'm glad you thought it was tasty, though. My own salmon was pretty fire." A slight pause followed, from which Fern saved herself with a quick retreat into her nearly empty glass of water. And then, just as he glanced over and opened his mouth – presumably to ask another question – she was saved by the waiter.

"Whenever you're ready, sir…"

***

It had come anyway – just as she'd dreaded. In the silence, as they'd strolled through that quaint little park in the moonlight. "I really hope you enjoyed this evening as much as I have, Fern. We should do this again sometime! So… um, what do you say?"

How sweet he'd looked! She could see it even now, as if seared into her very retinas: him standing there before her with the moonlight gleaming softly on his dark hair. He had smiled down at her with all the warm grace of a gentlemanly Mr. Bingley – so eager, so restrained, and so evidently hopeful. All he wanted was a second date. Surely she'd be willing. Surely, after that expensive dinner, and the nice conversation, and his considerate behavior…

"I can't," she'd blurted out. Oh yes, that's how she'd done it: eyes fastened on the ground, without even the decency to look the fellow in the eye as she crushed his hopes. "I- I'm sorry. It's not- I mean, you're a nice guy. It's just that- I- I'm not ready- Not in a good place for, um… anything serious…  right now… And I- I mean, maybe you are, and-"

God, you'd think by now she'd have gotten the hang of turning guys down. But of course she hadn't. Not in the slightest. She was just as awful at it as ever, despite her twenty-seven years experience.

And how horrible it felt when she ventured that single glance up – to see his crestfallen, struggling smile of disappointed acceptance. She'd once again led this guy on, her conscience screamed out. She'd toyed with his feelings like the heartless, soulless bitch she really was. So what if it had been only one date? She should never have gone out with him even once. Should've said no right then and there: right when he first asked – no, before he'd asked! Shouldn't have made eye contact- Should've come up with some excuse not to go to that meeting where he'd first seen her-

But even worse than the guilty blaring of her conscience was the skin-crawling sensation – that sickening feeling of utter self-loathing – that swept over her when she forced herself to confront the simple truth…

That not even the nicest guy in the world would be able to help her. That she was broken inside. That after twenty-seven years of life, she still didn't have the faintest idea how people fell in love.

***

Fern's eyes were already swollen from crying when she stumbled into her little apartment. On any other night she would have headed straight for the bathtub, there to drown her sorrows amid suds and perhaps a half-pint of ice cream. But tonight was different. Tonight was emptiness. Tonight was nothing but a trudge to the bathroom… a morose sinking onto the toilet to relieve her aching bladder… the listless tugging off of her nice dress and letting it puddle sadly to the floor amid the hiss and tinkle into the toilet beneath her.

So what. Just let it lie there. I don't deserve nice things anyway.

Flush went the toilet. Gurgle went the sink as she mechanically splashed water over her hands. Shuffle went her feet as she wandered, half-naked now, into her darkened bedroom. And two minutes later, she was clad in her faded lavender pajamas, switching out the light, slipping down into her rumpled double bed…

To curl up there in silence. Alone. Just like always.

Though maybe not entirely alone. Fern blinked bleakly up through her frazzled blonde fringe, reaching one petite hand upward to clutch instinctively at the stuffed fox resting on the pillow beside her. Suzie was here. Suzie wouldn't mind. Suzie had never minded when she buried her face in her soft fur… sobbed out her quiet sorrows… held her close against her almost-flat chest as the bleak depression crushed down on her…

"I'm an idiot," she muttered to Suzie now, and the sandpaper burn of tears pricked at her aching eyes once again. "Just a stupid, stupid idiot. Can't even go on a normal date without screwing up…"

She gulped back a sob as it rose into her throat. And then, as if in silent shame, her right hand slipped slowly upward through the dark. Her trembling lips parted. And her thumb brushed against them, easing guiltily inside as her mouth drew closed around it in a silent embrace. It was so… strangely comforting… just like always…

What a stupid, pathetic idiot, her conscience insisted – before she thrust it forcefully aside with a silent squeeze of her eyes and a furrowing of her forehead. Sure, maybe she was a little bit cute. But what adult woman seriously went to bed cuddling with her old childhood stuffie and sucking her thumb? She already knew she was a pathetic idiot, after all. But here in the pitch-black safety of her own bed… well, she might as well give up pretending otherwise.

(To be continued!)