Dear Mr Blind Date, Are You Mr Right? (Completed)

Best Friend

After one long tiring day at work, I flop back on the couch and sigh. Ed's driving me literally nuts. He  discovered my company email address, chloemanson@dazzledesigningcompany.com and he had been sending me weird messages the entire day.

Some went like this:

Dear Chloe, the coffee machine's great. Oh, I forgot. You don't drink coffee, Ed.

Or maybe....

Dear Chloe, if you're tired, take a break. Ed.

Hello? Hello? What on earth is this guy thinking? He's supposed to acting like a mature adult. Besides, he sounds like my mum with his naggy smses.

I deleted all of them instantly the moment I read them. It's pointless to be constantly reminded of him.

"Knock. Knock, Chloe!" Someone bangs on my door.

Evelyn. Good. I need someone rational and perfectly sensible to keep myself optimistic.

"Coming!" I call and open the door with a flourish and took a step back.

What....happened to her?

Her brown hair's dyed platinum blonde and there's an excessive amount of mascara on her pale, sallow face. In fact, she looks like a vampire out of that Twilight movie. This is so not her. She has always been a fashion conscious person and she once maxed out her credit card and had a $5000 debt because she bought too many clothes and makeup.

"Evelyn, are you PMSing...?" I ask cautiously and usher her in.

"No, I'm not," she huffs and plumps herself down on my tattered old armchair. "Do I look my shit, honestly?" She touches her face self-consciously.

"No, you look great!" I lie. The last time I told her she looked awful, she almost punched me in the face. Even though she looks petit and docile, Evelyn practises karate. She can literally kill a man with her own fists.

"I've been having morning sickness these few days. I feel disgusting," she moans.

What? WHAT? Morning sickness? Is she....

"Evelyn..are you pregnant?" I ask excitedly.

"Yes, for the fourth time!" she groans and puts her hands over her eyes.

"Congratulations! Berry must be so happy!" I gush as I hand her a soymilk packet drink. She needs to get as much food in as possible from now on.

"Yea, he is," Evelyn replies morosely. "That's the problem."

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy?" This is not typical of her. Maybe she's going menopausal. When she had her previous 3 kids, we went partying all night to celebrate her pregnancy (of course, she reluctantly took non-alcoholic drinks) and she was in a perpectual happy place.

"Berry's over the moon. I mean, he wants a daughter to go with Brandon, Jerry and Mark," Evelyn grunts. "But I....I can't deal with another child! Having 3 boys is enough!" Her eyes pop wide open and I can see her vein throbbing with emotion. She squeezes the packet drink and soymilk bursts out.

"Oh shit." She hastily grabs a rag and mops it up.

"Let me do it, you're pregnant." I snatch the rag away and soak up the liquid myself.

"Stop reminding me that I'm pregnant," she snaps. "I want an abortion."

"You want what-?" I was flabbergasted. Come on, but Evelyn can't even kill an ant without saying sorry. Has the world turned red? Why would she want to kill her own child?