Just an Ordinary Family

Who knew isolation was protective?
By the time December arrived—those festive weeks that shine a spotlight on singledom and mark it out as failure—she didn’t fall apart. Her New Year resolutions didn’t include “meeting someone”, but did include plans to pursue her own interests so she was a fully evolved woman. She didn’t need a man to be happy, and besides, she was far too busy juggling four jobs. Who had time to date, let alone the energy?
But on this hot January day, illness was shooting its DNA into her cells with the accuracy of an archer, and its message overrode her single life convictions with targeted precision.
You’re not pursuing any interests and you’re so far from being self-actualized, Maslow would boot you to the bottom of his pyramid. You haven’t contributed any money to your retirement fund in six months. You’re lonely. You’re scared. Alone. Childless. Just an auntie. Abject failure.
McDougall, her parents’ border collie, wandered in and, sensing Alice’s mood, laid his head on her chest. Tubby stretched out a paw as if to bat the dog away but his claws stayed sheathed. Doleful brown collie eyes and challenging green cat ones stared up at Alice—sympathy and provocation. Tubby was having none of her wallowing.
Whether it was the cat’s disdain for her pity party or the pseudoephedrine kicking in with its can-do attitude—or a combination of the two—she unceremoniously dumped Tubby off her lap, sat up and flipped open her laptop. If she wanted a shot at what sixty-four per cent of the adult population took for granted, there was nothing wrong with taking control of her life. She’d be more of a cliché if she sat around eating ice cream than being proactive. Bringing up a browser, she typed in, “best dating sites.” 760,000,000 results came up. Her heart raced and she snapped the lid shut. Tubby gave her a death stare.
“Okay, fine.” She reopened the computer and clicked on a site that explained ten of the most popular dating sites and apps. She quickly ruled out Boomer Singles, LGBTIQ Matchmaker and Hookup Heaven. She was looking for love, commitment and the promise of children. One site boasted over 25,000 marriages so she clicked on the link.
A box appeared on the screen. Name? Email? Postcode? Too easy.
How many children do you have? As she typed 0, the ache she’d fought to banish reappeared.
Date of birth? Alice typed in the unforgiving truth and then her finger hovered over the delete key. Her thirty-fourth birthday was six months away. Was that old? Was the truth overrated? But lying on the fifth question didn’t seem to be best practice so she left the year unaltered. Ethnicity? Boring white Anglo-Saxon, although her father’s swarthy skin hinted at something a little more interesting at some point back in the day. Perhaps she should be answering questions on Ancestry.com instead of here. Religion? Not really. Education level? Post grad. Her fingers flew. She could do this.
Occupation? Alice’s fingers paused, drumming lightly on the keys. What to write? Unemployed art catalog designer? Not quite fully qualified art auctioneer? Waitress? Boat cleaner? She typed “journalist,” justifying she was writing the community events notices for the Kurnai Bay Gazette and the occasional interview and opinion piece.
Income? So much less than it had been.
Height? 5’5”.
Smoke? Never. Karen’s drug education had terrified Alice so much she’d never even been tempted to try a cigarette.
Drink? If you’re offering. She got up and poured herself a glass of wine.
What are you passionate about? World peace. Now you sound like Miss Universe. She hit backspace and gulped down half the glass of wine. What was she passionate about? Once she would have said art history, but that led straight back to Lawrence. Staying solvent didn’t sound attractive nor did sorting the recycling. That was her current passion—bug bear really.
How hard was it for people to sort the bottles and the papers from the waste? Judging by the restaurant bins, which she dealt with at the end of each shift, and the hash the tourists made of the bins in the main street and the caravan park, it was very hard indeed. Did they want the white sand beach and the ocean they loved so much to be a flotilla of plastic bags?
Thinking of the sea, she typed “sailing” as her passion and vowed to dust off the Laser, which she hadn’t sailed in years. Or ask Nick if she could tag along as crew on the Wednesday afternoon race.
The dots at the bottom of the screen did a flashing run and then the words Compatibility Quiz appeared accompanied by seven buttons of graduated colors with the words Not at all, Somewhat and Very well strung under them. Above the buttons it said, How well does this word describe you? Beneath the sentence red words dominated. Stable? Energetic? Affectionate? Intelligent? Compassionate? Loyal? Witty? Very well. Very, very well!
Stylish? Sensual? Sexy? She looked down at her old shorts and stained T-shirt. Had once been all three, although not necessarily at the same time. Was not currently but could be again. Would be when her nose stopped dripping.
Athletic? Compared to Libby, not at all. Compared with the average Australian, very well. Heck, she walked to work.
Content? Very well. The bug mocked her. She changed it to the next button down and refused to alter it again.
Patient? This quiz is testing me. God, there were six more sections like this to complete.
How well does this word describe you: Bossy, irritable, aggressive, outspoken, opinionated, selfish, stubborn? Who in their right mind would ever admit to these things when they’re looking for a prospective partner, let alone a date?
The next section was titled, Talk to us about your feelings and the choices for the seven buttons changed to Rarely, Occasionally and Almost always. In in the last month have you felt happy, sad, anxious, fearful of the future, out of control, angry, depressed, misunderstood, plotted against? Do your palms sweat when you meet new people?
Her entire body was