by Stacey Lynn
“Gracious,” I say as I enter. It’s not quite half-filled with patrons and no one pays me any attention. Which is good, because I don’t usually make it a habit to talk to myself.
Okay, well, not unless I’m in front of a mirror. I don’t know what that’s about, either, but sometimes as I’m getting ready, I have conversations with myself. Maybe I’m going crazy from the lack of interaction with real people, since I spend so much time alone. Who knows?
Who cares?
I shrug off my scarf and grab Sara’s attention. She’s headed my way, wiping her hands on a towel, but I hold her off, pointing to a table near the back that gives me a good view of the door and sidewalk. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just grab this table. I’m meeting someone.”
Sara grins and waves the towel in the air. “Sounds good. I’ll get some waters and menus ready for you.”
“Thanks, Sara.”
I wave her off as she goes back to the table she’s cleared and reset and grabs a handful of rolls of silverware wrapped in napkins.
Settling at the small table, I shimmy my shoulders and arms out of my wool coat and fold it up next to me. My scarf is untied but still wrapped around my neck. After fidgeting with the silverware in front of me, I place my hands in my lap.
I’m a nervous wreck, and it’s ridiculous. I’m having lunch with the nice electrical engineer whose name I now know is Isaac. We’ve messaged back and forth several times since Monday, and when he finally asked if we should meet, I only hesitated for a split second before suggesting a late lunch. I’ve been so busy all morning finalizing more contracts for Trey and getting his schedule set up for the summer months that I almost lost of track of time and I barely managed to run around my apartment getting ready.
Shockingly, I’m only a couple minutes late, as opposed to the seven-minute-minimum delay I always claim Trey is perpetually on. I’m so used to it, I’m not the least bit bothered by Isaac being late. In fact, I prefer it. My early arrival means I get to be comfortable before he arrives. I scan the bar again and dig my phone out of my purse just in case he messaged me.
My screen is blank, so I set my phone next to me. I don’t want to be enraptured by a Candy Crush Super Hard Level when Isaac shows up. I’m unsettled, my foot tapping against the table leg while I wait, and I double-check his profile pic so I’m sure to recognize him.
This guy is so much more my type, looks-wise. Thick black hair, styled professionally. He has a tiny dimple in the middle of his chin, two more endearing ones to the sides of his smile. His jaw is square, a broad nose, maybe a bit too large for his face, but with his seemingly muscular physique, I can overlook the nose. This guy looks exactly like the kind of guy to be my next friend.
Yeah, I’m turned on just looking at his picture, and I haven’t met him yet. I also didn’t spend much time talking to him this week. A few messages here and there, where we got straight to business. What do you do for fun? What do you do for a job? We have similar interests (being outside in the summer and watching football in the winter…When is Portland getting their own team? we both lamented). He plays videogames. I prefer books. But who cares as long as the rest of his body looks like his profile picture. There’s enough here to start a friendship that could maybe lead to something more physical.
A girl can dream anyway.
Sara waltzes by, and while she’s near, I change my mind about waiting to order until he gets here. My fingers are ice cubes, and I need some heat in me to warm them. I wave a hand in the air, grabbing her attention after she checks on a nearby table.
“Hey, what can I get for you?”
“Can you please bring me some hot water and lemon while I wait?”
“You got it.” She hustles to the bar where Paul is lounging with his hip resting on the bar, eyes on sports reruns from the weekend. I don’t very often pop into Dirty’s on a Monday, but I’m not surprised Jonas isn’t behind the bar. If he’s here at all, he’s probably in the office taking care of the week’s busywork. For a moment, unease prickles at me.
I’m not in any better position to be in a relationship, nor is my desire any greater than it used to be. Jonas has made it clear he’s moved on, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a small part of me that occasionally wonders…
What if?
If I could go back to six months ago, to the morning he walked away from me after declaring he wanted something more…would anything be different now? Would I be like Teagan with stars in my eyes and a pink hue to my cheeks every time I think about him, like she has for her husband?
What would it feel like to know that at the end of the day, there’s a person waiting for you, wanting to hear about your day, the good and the bad, a person who’s there for meals with a smile and someone to help clean up afterward? A person who would hold your hand during the sad parts of a movie, and not someone who’s just looking for a Netflix and chill kind of night?
The concept is so foreign to me, so always unwanted, it’s hard to imagine me being with someone like that. But Jonas? Do I regret not even trying?
Yeah, some nights I do. I think. I miss him. I miss the way I felt when he walked into my apartment, the way he held my hand as he led me down the hallway to my room. I miss the way his body felt on mine, or the way he held me in his arms while we slept. Is that enough?
Worse, it’s not like I can ask him now. It would ruin our friendship completely. Right?
“Ugh.” I shake my head and swipe through my app again. Jonas is important to me, but I can’t think about him like this.
Stupid Trey and his dating app. This would be so much easier if he were trying to release a quick-fun-fling app. Those I can do easily. But these conversations where I have to talk to someone, get to know them without experiencing their personality or any instant chemistry, are exhausting.
Glancing at the clock on my phone, I realize Isaac is now ten minutes late. Still reasonable, but a little rude, right? I give him grace in case of traffic, since he’d said he’d have to leave his job, and tuck my phone into my purse. I’ve seen his face over the phone enough for the last few days; I’ll recognize him.
“Here’s your water,” Sara says, returning with my hot water mug on a saucer with three lemons. Just the way I like it.
“Oh. Thank you.” I cup my hands around the hot mug and hold it close to me, shivering. “Thank you so much.”
She laughs and sets two menus down on the table. “So, you’re meeting someone? Work related?”
Most of my dates have been at night, and the one day I did come here for lunch, Sara had the day off.
“No.” I have no control over the face I make. “A date. Sort of.”
Her dark brown brows arch in surprise. “You’re dating?”
Her surprise means one thing. Jonas hasn’t opened his mouth and spilled my secrets. “Yeah, kind of.”
“Really?” Man, it’s depressing how shocking this is to her.
“It’s an app Trey released recently, and he and Teagan dared me to actually find someone. It’s silly really and I’m not expecting much.”
She tilts her head sweetly. I’ve always liked Sara. In her late thirties and married, her life is so much more adult than mine even with a full-time job and my own apartment. And she loves her kid something crazy. He’s a handful, coming in every once in a while when she has to work and he doesn’t have school. She’s always been kind and friendly, almost more like the older, cool aunt I never had than a friend. Her different stage in life separates us just enough. “Why aren’t you expecting anything? Are you that emotionally stunted you can’t open your heart to anyone?”
“Jesus,” I laugh. “How much has Jonas told you about me?”
“Nothing really.” She shrugs. “But moms know things. It’s a superpower we’re given to make up for our stretched-out va-jay-jays.”
I spit my coffee across the table. Thank God my date’s not here yet.
She pulls out a towel she has tucked into her waist apron and wipes up my mes
s. “Sorry, sorry,” she says. She’s not sorry. She’s ridiculous. And much like me, lacking a social filter. “I didn’t think that’d bother you. But tell me something?”
“I’m not discussing the elasticity of my va-jay-jay.”
She rolls her eyes like I’m the crazy one. Please. She started it. “Why not Jonas?”
Her question makes me jolt so hard I kick the table. Talk about going right for my guts. Whatever she sees on my face makes her cringe, and she lifts her hand in the air, slashing it like she can forget the question.
I’m still too stunned by the question in the first place.
“Sorry,” Sara says. “I didn’t mean to bring you down, it’s just I always thought you two were so cute together, and now that he’s not with Ashley, I was hoping…”
“What?” The hot water that had been soothing my throat turns to ice in my lungs. Everything freezes. My limbs. My breath. My jaw is frozen in place, hanging loose. “They broke up?”
Her own face pales, and her head whips in the direction of the bar before returning to me. Brown brows furrow above her eyes. “You didn’t know.”
“No.” We’re staring at each other, and I’m pretty certain the room is spinning. “When?”
Is that my voice? Who scrubbed it with sandpaper? I lift my hand to rub my neck, hoping to soothe the pain away, but I’m afraid the pain isn’t in my neck. Or my throat. It’s further south, in my chest.
He broke up with Ashley.
“Recently,” she says, and I’ve never seen someone look so filled with pity.
“It’s fine.” I reach for my water, hand shaking. “Whatever.” He broke up with Ashley. And he didn’t tell me. We really are truly over. I fake a smile we both know I don’t mean. “It’s fine, Sara. We were over long ago.”
It doesn’t explain why tears are burning the backs of my eyes, though.
The door opens then and grabs our attention. Sara because she’s at work, and me because I’m thankful for any interruption in this conversation.
A man walks in by himself, poorly fitted suit over his rounded body. His thinning hair is brushed to the side, and while his face is young, the lack of hair and larger frame give him an older look. He’s definitely not Isaac.
My shoulders slump. Not that I’m going to be a great date anyway right now. This shouldn’t hurt so much, not now, and it makes no sense.
“I should get to work,” Sara says. Her fingers brush the table as she heads that way, and I pull my phone out of my purse. Ten minutes late is doable, but this guy is now pushing fifteen, and that’s a bit—
“Hello, Caitlin.” A heavy, rich voice says my name, and I lift my head to see the suit. The rumpled dress shirt beneath and loosened tie at his throat. The heavy set of skin beneath his jaw and…
“Do I know you?”
This can’t be. My hopes are dashed as the guy at my table nods toward the empty chair. “Isaac. May I sit?”
He’s already pulling back his chair, settling in before I can answer. I shake my head to clear it, but my brain has turned to cotton balls. Completely useless. This on top of the bomb Sara just dropped in my lap? It’s too much. Have I just been…what’s that word?
Catfished?
That’s it. And I’m not amused.
“I see you’re upset,” he says, “And I’d apologize, but you’re pretty and I liked talking to you, and I knew there’s no way I’d get your attention otherwise.”
Oh. My. God. Are all men creeps or scum?
“You’re—” I’m still having a hard time forming words. This is a betrayal I haven’t expected. It’s one thing to be weird or awkward or even have some gross toe fetish, but to outright lie? “You’re Isaac?”
“I am.”
Anger and humiliation begin to bubble. “And you’re a liar.” My teeth slam together. This is not okay.
“Everything I said to you was true.”
He’s defending his behavior. It’s unreal. I shake my head again, but my shock doesn’t settle. And I hurt. Why do I feel violated in some weird, unexplainable way?
Once again I’m gathering my purse and coat before I can enjoy a meal with someone. What is wrong with people? What’s wrong with me that these are the guys whose attention I’m grabbing? “You’re an asshole, is what you are.” I’m too upset to bother trying to be kind or polite. Besides, he doesn’t deserve it. “I understand you think you might not have been able to get my attention without that profile, but you didn’t lie, you created a different person. You tricked me, and that’s not right. Plus, that means you assume all the girls you think are pretty are selfish, shallow bitches, and if you think that going into anything with a woman, you’re going to end up disappointed.”
I shove away from the table and catch Sara’s wide-eyed look. I have nowhere to run to catch the sob bubbling in my throat. I will not run out the door back to my apartment with tears streaming down my face. I need a minute.
Instead of heading toward the front door, I turn toward the back hallway. Shoving open the restroom door, it slams closed behind me, and I press my back to it “My God,” I groan. My head falls back with a thump.
It’s one thing to exaggerate. Hell, all of a sudden Brett and his “I work in finance but really just balance my mom’s checkbook so she keeps me in clean underwear” seems a lot more reasonable.
But this guy is two hundred pounds larger than the photo he gave and there’s no way that was ever his real hair.
Vomit pools. Not because of how the guy looks, but because of what he’s done, and automatically assumed about me. A cold shiver rolls through me, and I go to the bathroom sink. Turning on the faucet so only hot water pours out, I shove my hands under it. It’s scalding hot, but the burn somehow distracts me. Is this what dating is like?
Good grief, no thank you. I’m so disgusted I can hardly think straight.
A knock hits the bathroom door, and I pull my hands back, facing it. Is he coming here?
Another knock quickly follows, and the door is opening. I step back and bump into the hand dryer. The violent whoosh of hot air shocks me, and I’m a mess by the time Jonas peeks his head inside.
“You okay?”
God. My shoulders slump. I don’t even realize how tense I’ve been until they ache. “What are you doing here?”
I turn back to the counter and flip the water off. Like I want Jonas to see how embarrassed I am. Or to see him at all. Not now.
“Sara came and got me. Said the date didn’t go well.”
I huff. My eyes are wild, my skin is pale, and my hair that had been cutely curled is suddenly a frazzled mess. I look terrified. And nasty.
“It didn’t even start.” I dig into my purse for my lip balm. Brushing it on, I dig back into my massive black slouch bag, fiddling for my lotion. Washing my hands in public restrooms leaves my hands feeling like I’ve just scraped off a layer of skin.
I’m prevented from finding my favorite peaches and cream lotion when Jonas settles his hand on my wrist and tugs. “What happened?”
“Just a liar. Whatever. It’s no big deal.”
In the mirror’s reflection, he hasn’t moved his eyes from my face. In fact, Jonas is studying me a bit too seriously. Too closely. “Then why do you look like you want to cry? Did you like the guy?”
If I’m not mistaken, he struggles with that last question.
He has that body and smile and sweetness about him that’ve always made my heart skip a beat. Even now, being upset, Jonas close to me still warms me far better than a cup of hot water and lemon.
Stop thinking about him!
“No. But let’s just say he’s not exactly the same person I thought I was meeting, either.”
“Ah.” He nods and finally pulls his hand back from mine. “That sucks.”
Monumentally. And I don’t want to know about Ashley. I really don’t.
I don’t even want to ask. But why didn’t he tell me?
“How’s Ashley?”
His lips tighten,
and he shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. There’s a distance in that question, and I definitely shouldn’t have asked. Still, curiosity killed Caitlin and all that. “All right, I guess.”
He’s lying. Tears burn all over again, and I turn back to my purse. Focusing on it intently. What am I looking for? Lotion? A new life?
“That’s nice.” I finally find my lotion and pull it out. I hurry through the motions, surprised Jonas doesn’t have much else to say. What else is there to say?
So, hey, I know you’re lying about having a girlfriend, and that’s cool. Want to go hang out?
God, I could kick myself.
This stupid dating experience I didn’t even want to do is making me feel worse and more confused than I was two weeks ago. If this is the journey it takes to find a forever—which I don’t even want—then count me out.
I slide my coat on and fixate on the buttons. “I should go.”
“Watch a movie with me tonight.”
My fingers stall on a button. It takes effort to lift my head. “What?”
“It’s Monday, and it’ll be slow. You’ve had a shit day. Let me come over and hang out with a friend. That’s all.” He shrugs.
Wow. He shows no emotion, no more than Trey would if he were to ask the same question. Except Trey would just show up at my apartment with a six-pack of beer and help himself to my remote without texting or calling first. I know this because it’s exactly what he does at least twice a month.
On top of just outright lying to me, this hurts. Jonas has never shown a lack of emotion or anything when he wants to get together. Not with me. Of course, that was just for sex, and this…I don’t even know what this offer is. But I do know there’s no way I can be around him alone when I’m feeling all out of sorts.
“No thanks,” I mutter. I can’t even smile at him. Or look at him. All of this is so weird it’s leaving me rattled. I fling my purse straps over my shoulder and walk around him. “I should probably get going.”
He nods like he expected my answer. There’s nothing in his expression that shows me he’s hurt. And why is the idea of him not caring about me outside of being friends, suddenly more painful than if he did? Good Lord. I need a nap. And a drink. Possibly a therapist.