I preferred the name Sugar.

"No, I'm not a prostitute," I grumbled.

People were always quick to judge, their faces scrunched up with tilted heads. My innocent twenty-four-year-old mind had been tainted over the years.

Why did you change your name to that, people asked.

When I embraced the name, I had an innocent warmth. Nutmeg, vanilla, cinnamon, chocolate, and other delicious notes tickled my tongue. All from the story.

It was my grandmother. Mama would call me Sugar as I spent time with her. I also lived with her and Papa since I was a little girl in a farmhouse down the gravel road. We'd mostly bake, and brown, white, and powdered sugar miraculously appeared on my apron, worn T-shirts, and in my jean pockets. She believed I was made of sugar. With her butterfly kisses, she leaned over the kitchen island counter to see our creations. I stood on the mustard yellow, Sesame Street footstool, made for my five year old feet. I grew fond of her endearment.

Mama made me her second in command. She'd shushed Papa with a short towel to get out of the kitchen. Of course, Papa would have snuck chocolate chip and shortbread cookies in his hands before disappearing into the living room. Classical music played on the radio as we kneaded the dough.

I held onto these memories.

People also commented, Don't you know the implications associated with that word?

Of course, I did. Did that stop me?

No. Not even a little.

However, hemade me doubt. Just for one second.

The guy I met on my first date in four years. He reminded me how I adored Mama and Papa. My family. And how lonely I was.

He instilled emotion in me. The kind where I stood up from my chair, squeaking, and ready to leave him. Or the delicate touch warmed my stomach. His sideway glances made my cheeks flushed.

I wanted to prove myself.

Somehow. Some way. I would.

I'll be whatever you want me to be.

I said that six years ago when I worked on Champion.

My mother had little to no hope for me obtaining a real occupation. I wanted a decent pay. My clear blue eyes got me through the front door. Hands caressed through my dark curls, I knew what I was doing. They taught me everything I knew.

But what did I want to do now?

I glanced around my apartment. It was still. One navy hoodie hung on the side of the couch. Television blue glow lit up the entire space, creating shadows from the artificial ferns and fiddle leaf fig tree.

A new year . . . what a waste.

I was alone. So alone. On my charcoal leather couch, with a bottle of beer in my hand, my best friend gone out with his family. Because he had a life. Not me. My legs propped up on the coffee table with torn up card pieces dusted on the glass.

She would've been with me.

I could picture our wedding ceremony. My mother would've cried. Well, maybe one tear. She'd wipe it away with her dry tissue. The violin and cellos sang their lullaby in a quiet, calm celebration. I would've worn a starling blue tie with black tux. I'd wear my glasses, no foundation and makeup, displaying my imperfect oily skin. She would've appreciated it. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back. She was made of sunshine. Her smile made me smile - it was contagious.

Instead, she'd married another man. She even sent a "save the date" card to me. Crème and orange, it reminded me of an orange dreamsicle. Citrus scent laminated cardboard, their names penned in perfect playlist script with additional tiny floral design above.

What the hell should I do?

I slammed the beer bottle on the coffee table. The sound echoed in my apartment. I cried.

"This is ridiculous."

I got up from the couch and started pacing. I ran my fingers through my hair. I was sure the back of my crown head strands stood like Big Bird's feathers. The rest dangled up each other.

I was bored.

I pulled my phone out. I opened the apps and began to scroll. I found free games, restaurant guides, not-so-family friendly services, and other things I had no clue I needed. The top screen read 4:00 a.m.. My eyes felt heavy but I kept scrolling. My thumb got sore. Blue lightning was similar to the midday sun.

She would've told me to go to bed. She would've convinced me to drink water instead of cheap beer. She would've -

Something illuminated on my face. The reddish pink glow was different.

TrueMatch.com. An online dating site.

She's not here. I wonder who I could find instead.

I wouldn't have guessed after one year of "online dating," that I'd meet my match.

Another thing she made me reconsider.

She made me think.

She made me remember hidden feelings. All of the emotions I suppressed down, deep in my soul. The numbness disappeared.

What do you think of our main characters?

I giggle over them all the time. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was so much fun revisiting and editing this story.

Thank you for fantastic support!