Poppy had no idea what excited her about Ridge’s profile. But something made her want to accept a friend request after he joined her Titanic II Facebook Group. Usually, she didn’t accept friend requests from people in her group until they posted a couple of times. She wasn’t sure if he’d be a troll, a scammer, or worse—send a dick pic. Gross! Ridge was a complete stranger to her, but then again, so was 99.99% of New York. The only people she met since she moved here six months ago were the ones she paid rent to or worked for.
She had no friends, which didn’t bother her for the first few months. Because memories of her rotten divorce and burying both her parents still loomed over her like it all happened yesterday. Having people in her life would have made things worse. It always did for stuff like that. The people in her town all felt sorry for her back home in Soddy Daisy, Tennessee. Sometimes that was a comfort. Most of the time, it wasn’t because their pitiful looks drove her crazy. And the other problem was her bitch of an ex stole from the people in town, too. The guilt made her fall deeper into a depression she didn’t feel she could recover from.
She moved from her hometown of Soddy-Daisy, Tennessee, to escape her old life, and she figured New York City was the best place to not only get lost in. But also? She wanted to become invisible, blend into the proverbial woodwork at the local bars or walk the streets without someone staring at her. Especially when she was spending her first holidays without family.
What she didn’t bank on with New York was the cold that had nothing to do with the weather. No one seemed friendly, and they all seemed to sport constipated looks on their faces whenever she wanted to give them a warm hello. She was from the south—what else would she do when she said hi to someone in the grocery store?
She hadn’t realized how lonely her life became until she saw dots that signified Ridge was replying to her PM. It was a quick greeting that she had haphazardly written to him. Poppy had to find out if he was a psycho, and saying hello was the only way she knew how to figure that out. If he turned out to be a scammer, Poppy could block him from the group and the friendship before another keystroke happened on her part. What she didn’t expect from those three dots was her heart doing a somersault once the brief paragraph popped up on her screen.
Don’t get too excited, Poppy! He might be like the rest of the dark souls in this city—or worse!
She read the kind-hearted text. It was probably—no, it most certainly had been the sweetest gesture she had had from any native New Yorker since she got here. She wouldn’t believe he was from the city from the text, but she looked at his profile, and there it was.
Hi Poppy! It is really nice to “meet” you! I was so happy to have come across your Titanic II group. I’ve been toying with the idea of purchasing a ticket for the maiden voyage for quite some time.
Poppy smiled at the paragraph. It wasn’t overly personal, but it had exclamation points after her name and after the “meet” you. A typical Southerner would do that. Absolute proof this was the warmest greeting she had gotten since she moved here.
Crap! What should I respond with?
Poppy tapped her index finger on her chin for a few seconds and started typing.
I’m glad you are enjoying the group so far! Let me know if you have any questions while you peruse.
There! That’s a suitable reply to him!
Her smile broadened at her quickness. But only for a few moments because she sees the dots on the PM again.
Actually, I do have a question…
Will this group have meetups before the maiden voyage? I’m kind of curious.
Poppy quirked an eyebrow at the question on her computer screen. It was a legitimate one to ask. Many of the Titanic II groups were doing meet and greets beforehand because that’s what they did with the first Titanic voyage. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if his question was slightly loaded in a completely different direction, like boarding on a stalker-level direction. She quickly typed another reasonable answer that would nip anything crazy in the bud.
I haven’t thought about it because the departure is so far out, and my group is new. Perhaps when I get more group members, I’ll revisit this.
He began typing again, and Poppy assumed it was to persuade her to start a meetup.
Well, I’d really like to meet you, regardless. Is that a possibility? Name the place.
Poppy’s eyes widened. There was now no denying that this question was, in fact, a loaded one. Her heart dropped. Why did the first person she, for all intents and purposes, met in New York have to ask her out via Facebook?
I’m sorry, but I don’t meet up with people on the internet that I just said hi to fifteen minutes ago.
Instead of hitting the shift key like she planned to--because she wanted to add something nicer. Something that would leave the door open to meeting Ridge in person if he didn’t turn out to be a creep online. Poppy wound up hitting the return key with her pinky instead. She instantly cupped her mouth in a desperate attempt to prevent herself from hyperventilating. If her mother were over her shoulder, Poppy would get the tongue lashing of the century from the woman who’d taught her never to be rude to anyone.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Now he’s going to think I’m a psycho bitch! I need to fix this!”
I mean—I’m sure you are nice and all! But can we get to know each other better before meeting IRL?
She tried to type it fast. And put in the exclamation point for good measure. Considering she was a journalist for a living in her sorted past, she took pride in being a pretty fast typist hovering at around 100 words a minute. But she wasn’t fast enough, and the words flashed in the bubble before hers stung her heart.
I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to sound stalkerish. I can leave you alone.
“Fuck!”
Poppy didn’t swear much. Only when she was only—never in public. According to her deceased mother, it was something a Southern woman shouldn’t do. But she screwed up, and the term seemed fitting to say. She waited a couple of seconds to see if dots would appear in response to her retort bubble. Still, she found her fingers typing back another response when they didn’t.
No! You aren’t being stalkerish! It’s just me being me. I’m new in town, and my Southern Belle attitude has not been scoring me many friendships here in the Big Apple. Can we talk for a little on here? Then maybe after that, we can go for coffee. That is, of course, if you can handle the warmth of my Southern Charm. ;)
It was a feeble attempt on her part, but she still hoped he’d understand the subtle Southern flirtation in her brief paragraph. When she saw no more dots, she closed her laptop and headed for bed.
Way to go, Poppy! You fucked it up again! Looks like I’m going to be lonely in this city that never sleeps!
She let out a sigh and pulled the covers over her head. Sleep came to her within 20 minutes of hitting the pillow.