Teach Me to Love

Ouch! I rub my sore knee with both hands while sitting on the floor. That was painful. I fell down the stairs when I was running to get the door. I don’t know who it is, but impatience doesn’t even cover it.

Is it bad that I want to open the door and slam it in the person’s face just to piss whoever it is off?

PING!

“Can you give me a minute? Jesus, I’m coming.”

I force myself to my feet and make my way to the door, rolling my eyes and groaning. I open the door slowly by removing the safety lock before I raise my line of sight up his body the second I see a pair of black pants.

A man stands there holding an envelope in his hand. He’s dressed remarkably in a black suit. His white shirt is pristine, and his waistcoat is covered with a gold vine pattern. As the sun shines down on his shoes, they sparkle.

He has blond hair, is about thirty-five years old, and has beautiful green eyes. Well, well, well, what can I do for you? I smile awkwardly.

“Um, hello?” I ask, pulling the door in toward myself, peeking out from the side of it.

“Good day, Miss Verb,” the man says. I give him a short nod, but he doesn’t say anything else. So, the two of us stand at the door silently smiling at one other.

Oh wait, am I supposed to answer him? Was that a question for me? Good day. Is he asking me if I had a good day, or is that a statement?

“Hello?” He has an American accent. What am I supposed to do in this situation?

I don’t have a sense of style, and my clothes are boring. On the other hand, this man is dressed formally.

Please disregard my lack of taste when it comes to material as I stand here in a pair of trainers, a black oversized sweater, and a pair of denim shorts.

I suppose I can’t say that I shop the same way the wealthy do. I think I only have a quid to my name.

“I’ve got a letter addressed to you.” Interesting story, I must say. What I want to tell him is that I have food burning on the stove. Instead, I stand at the door smiling at him.

“Oh. May I ask what this letter is for?”

“I assume the letter contains Mr. Robernero’s answer to an earlier email given to him. If you don’t mind.” He extends his arm with the letter to me, and I accept it. Who is Mr. Robernero?

“Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome. Have a good day, miss.” The man walks to the end of my garden and closes the gate behind himself.

I look down at the letter before I check to see what car he climbs inside, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Interesting.

Closing the door, I run to my kitchen and take the food off the stove. Phew, the food is salvageable.

I spend the rest of my day cleaning the house, and before I know it, the time is five o’clock. Yes, that’s how bad my house was. I don’t have any kids, but I couldn’t be bothered cleaning up the entire house.

With Christmas just passing and having the family around during the holiday, I left the mess where it was until today. After telling myself for days that I would clean up, I finally kicked myself in the ass and got to work.

Time to get comfortable. I love to watch soaps on TV. After making myself a cup of tea, I take two biscuits out of the tin as my eyes linger on the letter. I should open it. I mean, it was hand-delivered to me via special service.

Picking up the letter, I look at the back. It has gold wax with a stamp on it. A blue ribbon is wrapped around the cream envelope. I rip the ribbon off and open it.

Dear Mr. Robernero,

My name is Wren, and I’m contacting you on behalf of my sister, Lola.

Oh fuck no! This cannot be happening! Why would Wren send this Mr. Robernero guy a letter about me?

She’s thirty and in need of your help. We celebrated her birthday last week. You see, she doesn’t know what love is or what sex is.

Yes, I do, the cheeky bitch! How can I not know what sex is? I’m fucking thirty… Now, the love part… I can agree. I will let her off with that one.

I have a fucking reputation to uphold in work. Nobody should know anything about my private life. I cannot believe this is happening to me!

How crazy is that! I couldn’t believe it either. She’s had one partner. One! That’s horrifying! How can a thirty-year-old woman have one partner in her lifetime? I think I’ve had ten.

Anyway, she lost it when she was sixteen at a party and hasn’t been near a man since.

Why would she tell this man that? That’s my private life that she’s discussing with him. I’m going to kill her!

Well, I came across your name in stories and thought, what a great idea it would be to email you on behalf of my sister.

I hope to hear back from you soon. I must admit, you are a very handsome man, and looking at the newspaper articles about you, I can tell that you know what you’re doing.

This man is in the news? Who the hell is he? Still, she emailed him after she came across his name, so that means she doesn’t know him personally either. What is she playing at?

The public says that you know what love and sex is, so I thought that I would write this email asking for your help. Please help my sister get rid of that prudish side of her please. I’m begging you. She’s boring.

I’ve attached a picture. I’m sure you would enjoy a challenge.

Best regards,

Wren

PS She doesn’t know.

The cheeky fucking bitch! Well, I do now, and I plan to rip her hair away from her precious scalp. What picture did she even send to this so-called Mr. Robernero?

My mouth falls open as I lay my head in my hands. Is she joking with me right now? My sister has decided that it would be a fabulous idea to contact a man who I don’t even know asking him to have sex with me.

I’m not a prostitute, and I find it extremely offensive that she thought I would even be interested in doing this. As if I didn’t already have enough to deal with.

I am a thirty-year-old woman who has only had sex once because me and the male species do not get along, period.

Why would she do that to me? I know why. It’s because my sister loves to party with all her friends. Come on! I’m thirty and not interested in partying.

I’m too old for that shit, especially when it includes twenty-year-old screaming girls. Who would want to deal with that? Sometimes, I feel like I’m growing old too quickly.

Still, the two of us could do something else together, and I told her that. I even offered to take her to the spa, but she didn’t want to sweat or walk around with wet hair and no makeup on, so she rejected my offer.

Sighing, I read the response.

To Lola,

We’re already off to a bad start. The letter is directed to me. He’s read Wren’s letter and wants to be a part of her master plan to destroy my life. Yeah, I wouldn’t put that past anyone.

I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020.

Where was his invite? I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020. I cannot see where he has asked me if I would be interested in meeting him on Tuesday the seventh.

Oh my fucking god! What has she done? Tuesday the seventh is next week… I’m sure. Still, who sends back this rubbish? For one, he doesn’t know me, and for two, I don’t want to meet him. Ever!

He’s very arrogant, isn’t he? I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020. A simple “Hello, how are you?" would have been nice, but no, I get this. ~I will see you on Tuesday 7th July 2020~.

I’ve met men like him before, and that never did end well. I have told them I wasn’t interested before running out of the door, not looking back, and I haven’t had any regrets so far.

I hate men who give short answers. I remember when I was texting a rather fit twenty-nine-year-old, and all was fine until I sent him a long paragraph.

Do you want to know what his reply was? A thumbs-up! I unfriended him and blocked his account. That angers me the same as it does seeing Okay by itself.

Seriously, why bother replying?

Grabbing my phone, I dial Wren’s number and wait for her to pick up.

“Answer your damn phone!” I shout, picking up my cup of lukewarm tea and taking a sip of it.

“Hello.” Oh, how sweet her little voice sounds. I tighten my grip around the cup handle.

“Why would you do that? I’m not playing silly little games, Wren! Why would you email a random man asking him to make love to me? You’re such a bitch.”

“He replied? Oh my god, this is huge.” Wren sounds ecstatic. I narrow my eyes, staring at the wall.

“You need some fun!” Wren giggles.

I roll my eyes and lean back on my coffee-stained couch. Yes, I cannot get the cushion out because they don’t have any zippers on them, which means I cannot put them in the washing machine. They don’t fit.

“I don’t know who this Mr. Robernero is, Wren. What the hell am I supposed to do knowing that he wants to meet me?” I grab the remote and turn the TV down as I hear a knock at the door. I don’t know who it could be this time.

Placing my cup down on the coffee table, I walk down the hallway arguing with Wren.

“I swear to you, Wren, I’m going to strangle you and go down for murder!”

It’s times like these I wish that I could have a peephole or a window. I don’t know who stands on the other side of the door until I open the damn thing.