Soul Mate Sh*t

By Melissa Yvonne

On a seemingly average December morning, Melissa's world is turned upside down by a text message that unveils a man's decade-long admiration for her. This digital domino unleashes an affair that awakens Melissa's soul and exposes her realization that her marriage has become just another thing in the daily struggle through the monotony of life. I

• Language: English
• Publisher: Onion River Press
• Release date: Oct 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949066609

Melissa Yvonne

Melissa grew up in Pennsylvania and has spent her adult life in Vermont. She's fallen in love with the idyllic lifestyle and endless possibilities of what place can be. She has dreamt of being an author since childhood, and in midlife, she has finally taken hold of that dream. Relationships are at the core of her existence, and the prospect of inspiring other people to create the life they desire is where she has found the most meaning in her own life.

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Melissa Yvonne

Burlington

Vermont

Copyright © 2020 by Melissa Yvonne

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Onion River Press

191 Bank Street

Burlington, VT 05401

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Yvonne, Melissa, author.

Title: Soul mate sh*t / Melissa Yvonne.

Description: Burlington, VT: Onion River Press, 2020.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020910160

ISBN 9781949066449 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781949066609 (eBook)

Subjects: LCSH Yvonne, Melissa. | Man-woman relationships. | Middle-aged women--Biography. | Self-realization in women. | BISAC BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs | BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Women | BODY, MIND & SPIRIT / Inspiration & Personal Growth

Classification: LCC HQ1123 .Y86 2020 | DDC 305.4/092 --dc23

Edited by Vanessa Daunais | California

Cover painting by Najib Chakchem | Montreal, Quebec

Illustrated by Danielle Bombardier | Shelburne, Vermont

Designed by The Image Farm | Middlebury,Vermont

The text of this book was set in Sabon.

To each incredible individual in my Soul Circle.

The appreciation I have for the support you have shown me in the creation of this story cannot be expressed in words.

It’s Soul Mate Sh*t.

Soul

Mate

Sh*t

Prologue

My mother read to me when she got home late from work. Sometimes her words came into my dreams as I slept. Other nights I lay awake with my head on her chest, listening to the stories that shaped my view of the world.

What is REAL? asked the Rabbit. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real, said the Skin Horse, a wise toy.

Does being real hurt? the Rabbit asked. Sometimes, said the Skin Horse. When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.

Once you are Real, the Skin Horse said, you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always. The Rabbit sighed. He longed to become Real, to be truly loved.

Nearly every night the Boy only wanted to sleep with the Rabbit. Over time, his velveteen fur became shabbier, his tail unsewn, and all of the pink on his nose where he was kissed, was gone.

One day the Rabbit heard the Boy tell his Nanny that he was REAL. He was overjoyed. The next morning she noticed a look of wisdom and beauty in his boot-button eyes despite their long-lost shine.

As the Rabbit grew older, his whiskers fell off, his ears lost their pink lining, and his shape was lumpy. He scarcely looked like a rabbit at all. But the Boy loved him even more. He was beautiful because he was Real.

One day all of the toys were put in a pile to be burned because of scarlet fever, including the Rabbit. A great sadness came over him as he remembered such great happiness with the Boy.

Of what use was it to be loved and lose one’s beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? he thought. And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.

A flower grew from where the Rabbit’s tear fell. It blossomed and opened and a fairy stepped out. She kissed the Rabbit and said, Little Rabbit. I take care of all the playthings that the children have loved. When they are old and worn out and the children don’t need them anymore, then I come and take them away with me and turn them into Real.

Wasn’t I Real before? asked the Rabbit. You were Real to the Boy, she said, because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to everyone.

—Margery Williams Bianco

The Velveteen Rabbit

Summer

I woke to the sound of rain hammering the roof above my bed. Rubbing my eyes, I looked to my left and saw my husband’s pillow neatly tucked against the headboard, the sheets perfectly straightened. The house was silent, apart from the cascade of water outside, a drastic shift from the boisterous laughter that filled our tiny home the prior evening.

Grabbing my cutoffs from the floor and fishing a bra out of the laundry basket, I threw on a tank and walked into the living room. The open floor plan led my eyes to the kitchen: not a dish in the sink, not a can on the counter. I shook my head and smiled. My husband always made it look like nothing happened the morning after one of our epic gatherings. He liked a pristine palace following the chaos and cheer.

My parents taught me that the party didn’t end at night. The host always offered an opportunity for loved ones who played too hard to crash on the couch and start the party all over again in the morning. Last night, it was Chase’s best friend who played the hardest, his flip-flops still sitting by the door.

Walking towards the porch, I glanced out the window and giggled at the chairs strewn about the lawn. The rain had obviously prevented Chase from tidying up outside. It was probably driving him nuts. Opening the door, I found my two favorite men sitting under the overhang, each with a PBR in their hand.

Chase rose the moment he saw me, a big smile on his beautiful face. He spread his arms to offer an embrace and beamed, There’s my girl! Another one for the record books, eh?

I melted into his perfectly sculpted chest and welcomed his arms around me, feeling the power of his strength envelope me. Resting my head on his shoulder, I connected my eyes with the beauty still sitting in the chair and smiled. Christ babes, that was one of our best.

Stepping back from my husband, I took two strides, leaned down for a kiss on the cheek and said, Morning sunshine, how did you sleep?

He stretched his legs out on the wooden deck, tilted his head back and sighed, You two know how to throw a bash. And thank you kindly for the couch. I slept great.

I plopped down in a chair between the two men and looked over at the silver bucket filled with beer. What’s leftover? Anything good?

Chase dug through the ice and pulled out a red can. There’s a maple stout in here. Seems like a good breakfast beer.

I reached over to take the can from him. Did you put fresh ice in there this morning?

Before he could answer, his buddy chimed in, Of course he did. After he did all the dishes and took the recycling out. You know who you married.

Ignoring the reference to his OCD, Chase smiled at me. I was just setting us up properly for the party after the party! Should I start the bacon?

I sipped my stout and smirked. Sure, babe. Why don’t you start the bacon?

As Chase walked towards the kitchen, I turned my chair to face our guest. That was quite the show your husband put on last night, he mused.

Smiling, I recalled Chase’s command of the room with his robust rendition of my need for protection from highland cattle on our honeymoon in Scotland. I was on the hunt for standing stones, and he was insistent that my pathway through the pasture would surely end in my demise. I looked out into the clouds. I love when he tells stories. I wish he was that boisterous all the time. Turning back, I said, You were quiet last night. Is everything ok? Jocelyn didn’t come. Are you guys fighting?

You know something is always in turmoil with us, but yes, I’m ok, he said, waiving off my comment. I wasn’t any quieter than normal. You know I like to be a wallflower. There is so much to observe with that group of people.

It is a fucking cast of characters we have in our circle. That’s for sure.

You don’t need protecting, he said with certainty.

Hmmmm? What do you mean? I asked innocently.

The cows, he said. You could sense those animals weren’t going to hurt you. You wouldn’t have gone into their space if they were of any danger to you.

Well I’m glad you know me better than my husband, I said without sarcasm. My god, it was ridiculous. He actually said, ‘I command you to come back here.’ I laughed hysterically. As if I can be commanded to do anything.

He smiled. There is no commanding you, Miss Melissa.

So, I bought a door, I said, hoping to change the tone of our conversation.

He threw back his head in laughter and then looked deep into my eyes. Annnnnnnd, what does that mean for me, little lady? Do you have another project brewing in your head?

I do. I’m going to paint it purple, I declared as if paint would be all that was needed to bring my vision to life.

He shook his head. Purple. Ok. And where will I be hanging this purple door?

I crossed my legs in my chair and pointed towards the garden. A potting shed.

He looked over his shoulder and then back to me. Sounds about right. You never stop dreaming, do you, girl?

Cocking my head to the side and putting on my sweetest voice, I asked, Are you game?

He sipped his beer. You know I’d do anything for you, he said coyly, peering over the can.

Bacon’s on! Chase called out from the doorway.

Your wife was just telling me about this potting shed….

Chase laughed. Yeah, she showed up with this door that’s like two hundred years old and a piece of stained glass proclaiming, ‘We’re building a potting shed!’ And like that, I saw the rest of my summer evaporate. You in?

He stood up and held his beer out to Chase. Clinking the metal cans together, he said, Of course I am brother.

Fall

How was your day? Chase asked as I kicked the snow off my boots in the entryway.

Walking into the kitchen, I replied with disgust, Fine. I feel like all I do is answer email.

Dinner is almost ready, he said with no acknowledgement of my complaint.

I asked, How was your shift? Obligatory politeness was ingrained in me.

Also fine. Bullshit as usual, he replied. Let’s sit. Dining room?

I opened the cabinet and took a green glass mason jar from the shelf. Pouring a vodka seltzer, I answered, Sure.

I sat across from my husband and took notice of his chops growing in. My mind traveled to a restaurant in Montreal when we were children, maybe twenty-five. The waiter approached our table and asked if we wanted bread. We could eat it back then and still fit into our pants. I looked up at the gorgeous man towering above me and asked, Can I touch your head?

The stranger smiled. Of course. He bent down, and I ran my hand across his smooth, bald skin. Turning to Chase I said, You would look amazing if you bic’d it. The next morning every hair on his head was gone, and he has been perfectly bald ever since.

The chops, on the other hand, grew and faded with his moods. He knew I hated them and they seemed to flourish when we were at our worst.

I scooped some chili in my mouth and asked, What’s on tap for tomorrow?

He didn’t bother to look up from his bowl. Gym, union meeting, and lunch with my mother. You?

I took a gulp from my mason jar. Meetings and email. You know… what I do.

As if we were talking about making an appointment for an oil change, he asked Have you spoken to your dad? Did they get the surgery scheduled?

They decided on another round of chemo first before the surgery. I replied flatly.

Done eating, Chase walked towards the kitchen with his dish. Netflix? he called over his shoulder.

This was our routine now: rote conversation and mindless viewing. Finishing the liquid in my green jar, I said, Sure. I refilled my drink and headed into the living room.

One

Minutes before the 4 a.m. alarm, I turned to my side, pretending to sleep. My husband rolled over to kiss my forehead before heading to the kitchen to make tea. The same goddamn thing every morning. Just a few months ago, I relished this moment. Now all I felt was irritation.

I listened as he performed his routine, waiting until he was outside with the dogs to chug the bottle of water I should have had before bed. In the shower, I washed away the cobwebs from the booze and made a plan for my day: financial reports needed to get to my board, staff reviews had to be scheduled, and that stupid holiday card still needed my approval. It was just a typical day.

I made the most of my commute to work and used my car as a mobile office. I returned the voicemails that had come in overnight. The predictable and responsible robot I had become arrived just in time for my first meeting of the day. An hour into the agenda, the screen on my phone lit up.

Fuck my life, I read.

It was Brayden. We mostly text about references to the Howard Stern Show, both being fans since the 90s. Friends for about a decade, I knew the basic details of his life, but he was always one of those people that I wasn’t sure I actually knew. Like there was something about him that was below the surface that he never revealed and I never pushed.

I nonchalantly moved my phone to my lap. In a meeting, what’s up?

My mother…. A second later, an image of two full grocery carts came across the screen. I stifled a smile.

Always the caretaking son. You’re on my lap making me laugh as my board analyzes the budget I just presented.

You amaze me every day.

My pulse elevating, I replied, ???

I would love to crawl inside your head, settle in, and watch how you make it all work.

Stunned, I replied Really? I’m quite sure you would be terribly bored.

You are the most multifaceted, competent woman I have ever known. My eyes jumped over the text to an image of a purple and white horse with a horn.

Confused, I asked Unicorn?

A link to a post by A Bro Tryn to Catch His Unicorn on urban dictionary appeared. I opened it and read about a female and divine being that is uncatchable.

My cheeks flushed instantly. WTF?

Before my reply went through, his text came in: Definition is spot on….

I wasn’t absorbing anything in my meeting beyond the text on the 4- by 8-inch screen that had just changed my life. When a man you’ve known for nearly ten years comes out of the blue and tells you that you are his unicorn, your life is ready for a shift. Because things can’t stay the same after those words are sent.

Staring at the screen, I could feel my heart beating out of my chest, and I found myself short of breath. He was walking the aisles of the grocery store with his mother, and I was sitting in an office, but I suppose that’s the way things unfold these days. Emoticons and text messages have changed the way we fall in love. But who’s looking for a nearly-forty housewife as their unicorn? Those days of men lusting after me were a decade gone. Or so I thought.

You look incredible in white pants, he sent. My belly filled with butterflies.

I shook my head. What? How do you know I own white pants?

That event you took me to as a thank you for volunteering at your festival. You know I don’t volunteer my time. For anyone.

I tried to remember. I had taken so many friends out as a thank you after they helped at my festival. Where had I taken him and likely his wife? I wore white pants?

An image of me sitting on a rock wall on Lake Champlain with the Adirondack Mountains before me appeared. My back was to the camera, my long blonde hair almost reached my white pants, the sun was setting. He had snuck the photo some two years ago.

I’ve never seen this picture…. I typed innocently.

He responded instantly, It’s the image of you that comes through with every text you send.

A screenshot of his phone came through.

How old are you anyway? I asked, feeling off-balance. It felt odd that I never knew this basic detail about him; it had never been relevant to our friendship.

Well darlin’, I am an old man of 43.

Darlin’. I could almost hear his faint Maryland accent saying it without the g. Just three years my senior, but I coined him my silver fox.

* * *

The attention Brayden starting showing me was constant and instant. He never let me wait a moment before he responded. Even in the shower. By day four, I was a mess. I wasn’t eating. I wasn’t sleeping. Instead, I was talking and typing on the phone for hours on end, deep into the night.

Waiting for that bell to ring, I started missing appointments without a care. All I focused on was getting messages like, Why am I on the side of the road crying in my truck? You bring emotions out in me that I’ve never felt before and now that I’m not living with a one-sided conversation in my head, I am overwhelmed. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings. Please put The Scientist on by Coldplay and you will understand where my head is at right now.

I listened to the lyrics, overcome with emotion. He thinks I’m lovely? Sets me apart? Were there signs I never saw?

He progressed to sending videos of himself playing the guitar and singing to me. He told me I was the inspiration for him learning this particular song, about the girl he was waiting for and the first time he saw her, he knew it’d last the test of time.

When he played the guitar for me, I went back to a time in my life, the first time in my life, when I was in love. His name was Neil, and he had a local reputation as a rebellious rock star. He was of Indian descent and was two inches shorter than me. His parents despised that he had a white girlfriend raised by anyone other than doctors or lawyers. Nobody understood us together… except us. I remembered him finding me in the hallway one day after fourth period.

Lyss, are you in for a show on Saturday?

Totally, where are we going? I said shoving my books in my locker and grabbing a pack of smokes.

Kissing my cheek, he said softly, I knew you’d be down. There’s a festival about an hour north. Some great bands are on the lineup. I’ll bring the tent. Tell your parents you are sleeping at Clare’s? My car is on the fritz, but I talked to Jay. He said I can take his to make sure you get home by noon. Cool?

Leaning in to kiss his cheek briefly, I giggled. I just need to be sober and at work by 3. It took forever for the shrooms to wear off last weekend!

You didn’t seem to mind listening to me play until the sun came up. His tone was cocky; I tipped my head down to hide my smile.

Flinging my hair dramatically over either shoulder, I playfully replied, Well when you are singing about me, what’s not to love? Pulling a cigarette from its box and shaking it in the air, I said, Only a few minutes left to get a few drags in. Smoke a bowl in the parking lot after eighth? I skipped down the linoleum towards the bathroom and glanced back to see Neil leaning up against the lockers. I have the kids to watch after school, so I can’t hang long, I said, raising my voice.

He smiled at me with his dark brown eyes as I dashed down the hallway. He pushed his hair behind his ear and yelled out at me, Ab-so-lutely.

We were completely intoxicated with ourselves. Our own version of John and Yoko. Until I went off to college, and he got someone else pregnant, and it was over.

Brayden made me remember the mixed emotions, the ups and downs that made me feel alive, and how important music had been in my life. Neil had shown me how powerful it could be, but somehow I had forgotten. Lyrics used to flow through my veins, but where had they gone? Brayden was waking me up one stanza at a time, feeding me a life force nearly a decade depleted.

The more we messaged, the more I began to think about my life. When Brayden referred to me as a confident woman that was strong and skilled, I realized I had been perfectly content working too many hours and drinking too much vodka while watching trash tv to relax. When he called me sunshine and told me how he loved the insightful romantic side of me I didn’t know I had, I thought about my daily routine: alarm at 4 a.m., husband off to gym, let dogs out, alarm at 7 a.m., feed dogs, and shower. Think, think, think. I planned my days. I executed my days. I drank at the end of my days. And then I repeated. If I had forgotten music, what else had I missed in the monotony?

* * *

I could hear the guests arriving as I put the finishing touches on my makeup, a bit of glitter on my eyes to bring the fun I knew I had to exude. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I thought back to the last party we had thrown. The breezy, effortless version of myself I was just a few months ago. Now, with a digital affair playing out, I was far from carefree.

But it was my husband’s 40th birthday, and I had a role to play as the doting wife. Affairs had no place that night. Taking a deep breath, I squeezed into my nylons and pulled my hot pink flannel dress over my head. I took one final look in the mirror and said, You can do this. Nobody will know.

As soon as I walked into the living room, I saw Brayden watching me, drinking me in. He didn’t smile or wave. Neither did I. My body started tingling, but my head stayed focused.

I walked towards the kitchen and saw