Subject: Dinner?
My heart leapt and my pulse was suddenly racing with anticipation. Eagerly, I clicked on the message to open it. After an agonizing three seconds, Jim’s words filled the screen.
Hi Beth,
I know this is short notice, but I’ve got a meeting in Seattle on Monday morning. Do you feel like having an early dinner before I head back to Bainbridge?
I’d love to see you again.
Jim
It was like a message from God! Okay, it was like a message from Jim Davidson, but still . . . the timing was incredible! Just when my fears and insecurities about a loveless future were threatening to overwhelm me, I received a dinner invitation! If that wasn’t a sign to move on, to look forward and embrace the future, I didn’t know what was. Yes, I would push aside all residual feelings for Colin and have dinner with Jim. I clicked the mouse on the reply icon, and with trembling fingers, I typed:
I’d love to see you again, too.
Beth
Jim Davidson picked me up at five o’clock in his navy BMW convertible. It was a far cry from Colin’s 1994 Pontiac Sunfire. Not that I was some superficial, materialistic bimbo who got excited about a fancy car, but come on! It was a BMW convertible! I was used to being driven to dates in a Dodger Blue sedan, with a loose muffler and a cassette deck. It was normal to be a little impressed. As I slid into the leather passenger seat next to my distinguished suitor, I felt slightly giddy. The scent of Jim’s expensive cologne, the proximity of his smooth, tanned skin, and the new-car smell had set my head spinning.
He took me to an upscale eatery across the bay in Alki Beach. It was virtually deserted so early in the evening, allowing us to choose an opportune table to enjoy the scenic view of Seattle. When we were seated, with lemon-drop martinis before us, Jim reached for my hand. “It’s so great to see you again,” he said. “It’s been too long.”
“It has,” I replied, smiling. I could feel my hand beginning to sweat profusely in his electrifying grip. I took a large sip of my deliciously strong drink.
“I wanted to call you sooner, but I didn’t want to seem like some desperate old bachelor.” He chuckled.
“Oh, you could never!” I said, and then realized that I was sounding like some desperate thirtysomething spinster. “I mean . . . I wouldn’t think that... you know, if you wanted to call me . . . whenever.”
He was smiling at me fondly. “So, how have you been?”
“Not bad,” I lied, forcing away the remembrance of my Colin encounter and ensuing breakdown. “I’ve been quite busy, but things have been going well.” I was striving for a light and breezy tone, but to my horror, my voice wavered with repressed emotion. I took another enormous sip.
“Are you sure?” he asked gently, reading the chagrin in my tone.
“Yeah. Fine,” I croaked through the enormous lump that had formed in my throat. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been good. I’ve been working on a restoration project in Pioneer Square.” He looked at me, and with a slow smile said, “I like to keep busy. It keeps me from thinking about you all day.”
My stomach began to flutter and I immersed my lips in my drink. Jim was so forthright and candid about his feelings toward me. It was slightly unnerving, and yet refreshing after four years with someone as guarded as my ex. I found myself completely charmed by the man sitting across from me. But how was that possible? Only ten days ago I’d been rolling around naked with Colin, celebrating our supposed reconciliation! Was it normal to be so fickle? Or was I just... resilient?
“Another drink?” Noticing my empty glass, the waiter had approached. I stopped myself from rather hungrily licking the sugared rim and said, “Please.”
When he departed, Jim said, “What have you been up to since I saw you last?”
I decided not to mention the rolling around naked with my ex. “Oh . . . this and that... writing, spending time with friends, doing handicrafts . . .” But, my voice would not stop trembling. What was happening to me? Was I about to have some sort of emotional breakdown in front of this handsome, successful architect? God! I was such a loser!
“You seem upset. You can talk to me, you know.”
As if! It had been a while since I’d been on a date, but I knew there were rules about this kind of thing. I seemed to remember seeing a checklist somewhere.
When on a date:
• Do not drink too much.
• Do not talk about your old boyfriend.
• Do not cry!!!!
• And never, ever drink too much, talk about your old boyfriend, and cry.
But Jim Davidson was looking at me so intently and with such understanding, that it was like he really wanted me to open up to him. I barely knew this man but he really seemed to care about my feelings, like the turmoil I’d been going through actually mattered to him. Did I dare tell him about my commitment-phobic ex and his recent wan catharsis about marriage and family? I’d leave out the part where we had sex, of course.
I took a long sip of the martini now placed before me. Clearing my throat loudly, I said, “Uh, I—I went through a difficult breakup a few months ago.”
“Tell me about it,” he urged.
And for some reason, I did. It was crazy, breaking the most obvious of all the dating rules, but it was like I was powerless to stop. Drawing a ragged breath, I told him all about my fruitless relationship with Colin and his overpowering fear of commitment. I told him how I was ready to get married and start a family (which, come to think of it, was another big no-no on the dating checklist), and I didn’t feel I could afford to waste my time with someone who didn’t share my dreams for the future. I knew I was ruining my chances with Jim, that as soon as I stopped talking, he would undoubtedly summon the waiter for our bill, mutter some excuse about an early meeting, and hightail it out of there. But it felt so good to open up to him. When I’d finally run out of words, I drained my second lemon drop. “Well . . . that’s about it,” I said, awkwardly.
“That must have been tough—for both of you,” Jim said, reaching for my hand. I braced myself for the inevitable: While you were talking about your ex-boyfriend for the last ten minutes, I remembered that I have to pick a colleague up at the airport. But instead, he leaned toward me. “I hope you don’t hate me for saying this, but I can understand Colin’s point of view.”
“What?” I squawked.
“I’m not saying he’s right, I’m just saying I remember how I was at his age. It takes some of us a long time to get our priorities straight.” He gave me an intense look that said: I finally realize that committing to a wonderful woman is the most important thing in the world. Butterflies danced in my stomach as a sudden realization struck me: This guy could be everything I was looking for.
The waiter approached, prompting us to focus on the menu. Jim made recommendations as we perused the selection—not in an arrogant way, just as someone with excellent taste and a vast knowledge of fine food. And his choices were divine. We shared a heaping bowl of mussels with ginger and cardamom to begin, followed by a light green salad with red pears, blue cheese, and raspberry vinaigrette. For the main course, Jim ordered the wild sockeye salmon, and for me, he recommended the Ahi tuna with black truffle risotto. He also chose an excellent Cabernet Shiraz, because, he said, if you really love red wine, it doesn’t matter if you’re drinking it with seafood. Again, I couldn’t help but appreciate Jim’s sophistication. It’s not like Colin and I only went out for beer and nachos, but he certainly never made informed suggestions in high-end restaurants. And he certainly never ordered an expensive bottle of accompanying wine!
Throughout the meal our conversation flowed smoothly. We left the topic of my past relationship behind, and talked mostly about our careers. Jim told me how a twelfth-grade trip to Europe inspired him to become an architect. I told him how I’d wanted to be a pop singing sensation, but intense stage fright—and the school choir director—had convinced me I had a talent for the written word. Our repa
rtee was lively and witty, and I realized I was enjoying myself more than I had in months. In that moment, I felt the return of the optimism I’d experienced before that night with Colin. But I couldn’t let my elation get the better of me. There was one vital piece of information I had yet to find out.
Over cappuccinos and a shared plate of molten-centred chocolate cake, I tentatively broached the subject. “So . . . it’s my brother’s birthday tomorrow,” I lied.
“Nice. Do you have birthday plans for him?”
“Just a small family dinner.” I took a sip of my cappuccino. “Birthdays are really important in my family. What about yours?”
“Well,” he chuckled, “at my age you prefer to let them pass without ceremony.”
“Oh don’t be silly,” I said, flirtatiously. “And your birthday is when, exactly?”
“December 22.”
Yesssss! Capricorn! An ambitious, goal-oriented Capricorn! While I would have to look it up in more detail in my astrology book, I knew that Capricorn was an earth sign. A great match for my water sign! God, this could really be him!
When we’d drained our coffees and enjoyed the last morsel of cake, Jim said, “I can’t believe I have to go home tonight.”
Do you really? I was tempted to coo, but managed to refrain. As attracted as I was to Jim, sleeping with him so early on in the relationship was bound to be a mistake. Besides, one had to be careful with these older, sophisticated gentlemen. They were probably more traditional than my generation and might consider a proposition too forward. I didn’t want Jim to think I was a loose woman, or a floozy, or whatever term men his age used for “slut.” Besides, inviting a man like him to a sleepover at Kendra’s cluttered, girly apartment just didn’t seem right.
“That’s too bad,” I finally said, when I’d swallowed my cake. “I’m having such a nice time.”
“Me too,” he said, smiling at me. “But I’ve got to make the ten o’clock ferry. I’d better get you home.”
“Okay,” I said brightly, masking my disappointment.
As we raced through the darkened streets back to Queen Anne, I was surprised at how forlorn I felt about the evening’s demise. I wanted more time with him. I wanted to stay up, talking and drinking wine with him, until the sun began to rise. Did I want more than that? Was I ready to take this relationship to the next level? We hadn’t even kissed, and yet I felt this intense connection to him. Did I dare try to lure him into spending the night in Seattle? I mean, he could afford a hotel room, right? What was the big rush to get back to his house on Bainbridge?
Jim interrupted my internal plotting. “I hate to cut our evening short like this. I’d get a hotel room and spend the night, but I’ve got friends coming to visit first thing in the morning.”
Damn. “Oh, that’s okay. I should get my beauty sleep anyway.”
“You don’t need it.”
Jim turned onto Mercer, and all too soon, we were pulling up in front of my building. Ever the gentleman, he parked the car and walked me to the front door. “I had a great time tonight,” he said, leaning close to me.
“Me too,” I gasped, feeling nearly breathless from his proximity.
“I’m going to have to book a lot more meetings in Seattle, I think.”
“That would be nice.”
He leaned in and kissed me. It was gentle, almost tentative, but electrifying nonetheless. My knees threatened to buckle and I gripped his shoulders. He took this as a sign of passion and intensified his kissing. Oh man. Now I really did want to grab him by the tie and lead him up to my apartment, past Kendra, undoubtedly lying on the couch watching Miss Congeniality, and into my tiny bedroom. But just as I was about to make my move, he broke away.
“Wow,” he said, huskily, looking into my eyes.
“Yeah,” I replied, dumbly.
“Look...” he paused. “This might seem like I’m moving kind of fast—”
Yes! Yes, I will have sex with you!
“But I’m going to Whistler this weekend for an environmental symposium. Would you . . . would you like to come with me?”
Oh my god! Had he just asked me to go away with him? “Uh . . .”
“You could ski while I’m in meetings. It’s really beautiful up there.”
“Well, then . . . yes. I’d love to go to Whistler with you.”
“Great. I’ll be in touch with the details.” He looked at his watch again. “I’ve got to go.” And after giving me a brief kiss on the cheek, he hurried back to his car.
Fifteen
LET ME GET this straight,” Angie said, gesturing with her knitting needle, which, incidentally, now held exactly three rows of periwinkle stitches. “Last week, you were in tears over Colin, and now you’re going to Whistler with the old guy?”
“Jim,” I corrected her, leaning back onto Nicola’s luxurious sofa. “And yes.”
“God,” Sophie said, taking a sip of Merlot, “your life is so exciting.”
“Do you ski?” Nicola asked. “Blackcomb Mountain is spectacular. We spent Christmas with my parents there a couple of years ago.”
“Not really,” I said. I had tried, once, on a high school ski trip, but ended up removing my skis in frustration and walking down the mountain. It took me three hours to reach the bottom, and I spent the rest of the weekend in the lodge eating french fries and drinking hot chocolate.
“Maybe you could take a lesson?” Nicola continued. “It’s so much fun!”
“Maybe.” I shrugged indifferently, purling two stitches. French fries and hot chocolate actually sounded like a lot of fun to me too.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of soon to be going away with this Jim guy?” Angie said. “I mean, how long have you known him?”
“Look,” I said defensively, “Colin and I took things slowly and I wasted four years of my life with him. Going away with Jim feels right, so I’m going to do it. And I’m not going to over-analyze it.”
Of course, I had overanalyzed it, nearly every night this week as I lay in bed wondering if it was too soon to be spending a weekend away with Jim. I had listed the pros:
• I felt comfortable with him.
• I was attracted to him.
• I felt confident that he was a good, trustworthy person.
• He was a Capricorn, a sign that was given “two enthusiastic thumbs up” in the relationship section of my astrology book.
There were also a few cons:
• We were going to a foreign country. (It was just Canada and only a five-hour drive from home, but still...there was an increased risk.)
• I barely knew him.
• It had only been a few months since Colin and I had broken up.
• It had only been two weeks since Colin and I had had sex.
But something told me to jump at this opportunity, that I would regret it if I dragged my heels on this burgeoning relationship. Besides, who was Angie to judge? She’d only been seeing Thad for a short time and she was already wearing one of those silly red Kabbalah strings around her wrist.
“Will you be sharing a room?” Sophie asked.
“I—I don’t know.” I couldn’t help blushing. “He didn’t mention it.”
Nicola gasped. “I would hope not! You barely know him.”
Angie said, “Obviously he feels he knows her well enough to invite her to Whistler for the weekend. He’s probably planning to bang her.”
“Not if he’s any kind of gentleman, he’s not,” Nicola countered.
“Too bad Martin couldn’t make it this week,” Sophie commented. “We need a male opinion on this.”
“He had some business in San Francisco,” I explained, eager to shift the subject from Jim’s and my sleeping arrangements. “A conference or a convention or something. But we should take this opportunity to catch up to him with our knitting. He’s already on his second project and we’re not even done our first!”
I looked around at the startling lack of progress we’d made in our weeks together
. While Sophie’s tiny mint hat was nearly ready to be bound off and sewn, Angie had done virtually nothing but cast on stitches. She was keen on the initial stages of buying beautiful yarn and glossy pattern books, but she seemed to lack the follow-through to complete anything. Nicola’s mauve angora scarf, on the other hand, was nearly half done. Her method of knitting was incredibly painstaking and precise, as she regularly checked her gauge and periodically stopped to count stitches. Slowly but surely, she was making progress.
In contrast, I knitted with abandon. My fingers seemed to fly once I got going. Like Mel had said, it became an almost unconscious Zen act. But when I broke for a sip of wine or a snack, an inspection of my work found any number of mistakes. I was continually ripping out rows, resulting in my mom’s (or, at this rate, my sister-in-law’s) birthday scarf still being only five inches long. Really, other than Martin, none of us would have qualified as “natural” knitters.
Angie would not be distracted by talk of our lack of knitting prowess. “I may not be a man, but I certainly know them. Sex is definitely on the agenda.”
“But maybe it’s different with older guys?” Sophie said.
“Please!” Angie said, like the possibility was completely ludicrous. “He’s forty-eight. Not ninety! He’s going to want some. I guarantee it.”
“You guarantee it?” I said, giggling nervously. The thought of having sex with Jim this weekend brought up a jumble of emotions: anxiety, apprehension, mixed with a little excitement. Unfortunately, my uncontrolled giggling made it sound like I was simply dying to fuck his brains out.
“I’m not so sure,” Sophie said. “If he was in his twenties or thirties, I’d agree. But he’s almost fifty. Maybe he wants to take it slow?”
“You’ve only been on what—two dates—with him?” Nicola said. “I can’t imagine that he expects you to consummate your relationship already!”
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