Match Me

by Liz Appel

“From your monumentally horrific choices in men,” she said. “From bad dates. You need to see that there are good guys out there. Guys like Domenico.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. I am not going on Match Me again. No way. No.”

  “Oh my God.” She snapped her gum. “Just hear me out. I’m not talking about a dating site.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  “No, I’m going to set you up on a different kind of blind date.” She grinned and grabbed her purse from the counter. “Be ready. Tomorrow night.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  I might have broken free of Chase but Jill still had a firm hold around me. Because the next night, I was standing in my bedroom, contemplating the contents of my closet, searching for an outfit for my date.

  “Alright, here’s the deal,” Jill had said when she’d called that morning. “You’re going to meet in the Cities.”

  “What? I don’t go to the Cities. Ever.”

  “Well, you also wouldn’t look seriously at other guys. Ever. Things change. Including this.”

  “That’s different.”

  “I know. This doesn’t involve having to change your whole way of thinking,” she said. “It simply means you get in the car and drive twenty miles.”

  I sighed. “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Phase two,” she reminded me. “An essential part of developing and nurturing the new and improved Bonnie. You need this.”

  I slumped against the kitchen counter, gripping my cup of coffee. “Where?”

  “There’s this really great restaurant. Psycho Suzi’s. I texted you the address. Just plug it into your phone—your map feature will get you there. It’s right off 94.”

  “I’ll never find it. You know me.”

  “Get off on Broadway. Hang a left. Boom, you’re there.”

  “And Psycho Suzi’s?” I shook my head. “What kind of name is that? Is this some crack about my mental health over the last month?”

  “The last month?” She snorted. “No, the last ten years.”

  “Whatever. Fine. And who am I meeting? Turtle Killer’s brother?”

  “Ha. No.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll know when you see him,” she said cryptically.

  “Seriously, Jill. I need to know.”

  “Just trust me. Have I ever let you down?”

  “Turtle Killer…”

  “You picked him!”

  I’d forgotten that little detail. “Roberto.”

  “Oh, please. There was a language barrier there. Not my fault.”

  So there I was, hours later, staring at the contents of my closet. I was going on a date twenty miles outside of my comfort zone. Literally. And with a complete and total stranger. I had no idea what to look for. And I had no idea what she’d told this guy about me.

  Maybe it was finally being free of my infatuation, or maybe it was something else, but I took care with my outfit. I picked out a sundress the color of a ripe raspberry and slipped it over my head. I hunted through my closet for shoes, trying to find something other than flip flops. The only nice pair I had were the sandals I’d worn to Chase’s wedding.

  I hesitated. Would it be a bad omen to wear those when I was starting my life over? Did I really want any reminders from that very recent chapter of my past?

  I held them in my hands and sat down on the edge of my bed. I turned them over, studying them. The one shoe was missing several rhinestones but they still sparkled in the afternoon sun that filtered through my window.

  I slipped them on. I stood up and studied my reflection in the floor-length mirror attached to the back of my bedroom door. They worked perfectly with the dress.

  I dug my feet in, letting the top strap slide over the tops of my toes. They wouldn’t be a bitter reminder. I wouldn’t let them. They would be a badge of honor, like a scar, scabbed over and healed. They would represent everything I’d lived through and everything I’d survived.

  TWENTY-TWO

  My VW sputtered along 94, the steering wheel shuddering as I pushed it to 65. The speed limit was 70. I was actually glad to be driving toward Minneapolis. Even though it was mid-week and the end of summer, traffic heading north was abysmal. Rush hour had come and gone and the sky to the west was sliding into dusk but the freeway was filled with trucks and RVs, all making their way north.

  I heard a familiar female voice on the radio and I turned up the volume, hoping I could hear it over the chugging of my poor little engine. I sensed a new car in my very near future.

  Taylor Swift was rocking a new anthem, something about never getting back together. I smiled as I listened to the lyrics. Somehow, I’d gone full circle in the song department—from crashing a wedding at her urging to nodding my head in agreement as she moaned about a failed relationship being exhausting.

  Chase had been exhausting. Being in love with him had been exhausting. Not love, I corrected myself. Infatuation. And even though the song didn’t exactly fit—his marriage made it pretty obvious we’d never get back together—I took the song for what it meant to me. That I was finally done.

  I followed Jill’s directions off 94, only consulting my phone once. It was as easy to find as she’d promised. A small building adjacent to the road, with a large fenced patio. Seeing a Polynesian-themed restaurant complete with tiki statues and tiki torches in the middle of Minneapolis was unexpected. I maneuvered my car into the narrow parking lot next to the restaurant and killed the engine.

  I sat in the car for a minute and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. I should have painted my nails, I thought. I had pink nail polish in one of my bathroom drawers.

  I checked my reflection in the mirror. My make-up had held up and my hair looked fine. So what was I waiting for?

  But I knew. For the first time in a long time, I was nervous about a date. Turtle Killer and Roberto were different—I hadn’t wanted to go, but I also didn’t worry over much of the details. For me, those dates had been obligations. I’d told Jill I would go and I did. Nothing more. And even though Turtle Killer had reminded me of Chase, I didn’t get tensed up before the date or feel butterflies in my stomach as I walked to the restaurant. Probably because I’d still been wrapped up in Chase. I knew where my heart truly was…or where I thought it was. With him.

  But that was gone now. And I realized that I did care about this date. I wanted to make a good first impression. And, even with knowing absolutely nothing about the guy Jill had set me up with, I wanted it to go well.

  I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady my breathing. Maybe I should have consulted the tarot before the date. Asked what to expect. Too late now.

  I glanced at the time on my phone. It was almost 7:00. And I didn’t want to be late. I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. I was as ready as I was ever going to be.

  I walked across the parking lot to the patio area. Jill had told me to sit outside. A lot of the tables were already occupied and I scanned them for a man sitting alone. I didn’t find one.

  So he wasn’t there yet. I found a tiny table tucked in the corner next to one of the tiki statues. I tried positioning the chair so that I could see the entrance but the statute was too big and I didn’t have enough room to navigate. Resigned, I sat down with my back to the entrance and waited to be surprised.

  “Hey, Bonnie.”

  I whirled around. “Paul!”

  My surprise was genuine. What on earth was he doing in Minneapolis? Everywhere I went, he seemed to pop up. And I was never disappointed.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He smiled. “A date.”

  For some reason, my heart plummeted. “Oh. With Meg?” I tried not to scowl as I pictured the cute chef from Champs.

  “Nah, someone else.”

  Please don’t let it be Jenna, I thought. The last thing I needed was to see her smug face and hear her snide comments as I waded through my first phase-two recovery date.

>   I worked up the nerve to ask. “Jenna?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Good God, no. Give me a little credit.”

  “You were out with her the other night,” I reminded him.

  “I go out with a lot of people,” he said. “And she asked me. I was pretty sure I knew what I was getting there, but I needed to make sure for myself. I was right.”

  A little sigh escaped me. He really was a nice guy. A good human, as Jill put it.

  “Oh, OK.” I smiled. “Well, it was good seeing you.”

  “You’re just dismissing me?” he said, more amused than annoyed.

  “Well, I don’t want to keep you. You know, from your date.”

  I also knew Rule #1 for blind dates: don’t pass the time waiting for your blind date with a really nice-looking guy who is not your date.

  He looked around. “Hmmm. Maybe,” he said. “But don’t you want to know who I’m here with tonight?”

  My brow furrowed. No, I really didn’t want to know. Because I figured it might be someone else I didn’t approve of for him. But he clearly wanted me to ask.

  “Uh, sure. Who?”

  He smiled. “You.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Me?” I’m pretty sure my voice squeaked.

  He slid into the seat next to me. “Yes. You.”

  Had he followed me down? Did he think I was just driving to Minneapolis for an evening out by myself? That had to be it. Perfect Paul to the rescue, always at the ready to take care of me.

  I panicked. “You can’t be. I mean, it would be fun to have dinner with you but I’m actually meeting someone.”

  He looked around. “Oh. Who?”

  I hesitated. “Um, I don’t really know.”

  “What?”

  “It’s sort of a date,” I said lamely. “A blind date.”

  He grinned. “Oh, really? Another stellar specimen from Match Me?”

  I’d told him about the disastrous dates in the Dairy Queen parking lot. After I’d told him about Chase’s proposition.

  “No. Someone Jill set me up with.”

  He played with the silverware that was on the table. “A friend of hers, then?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I don’t know much of anything about him.”

  Except that he was going to be there any minute. And I was sitting at a table with another guy, who under any other circumstance, I would’ve chosen to sit with.

  “I’m surprised you agreed to it,” he said. “You know, considering your recent track record.”

  “Well, Jill can be pretty persuasive.” I smiled. “And she did say he would be perfect for me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I trust her judgment. I think.”

  He picked up the knife and twirled it between his fingers.

  “So,” I said. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. But you really need to go. I don’t want to be rude to whoever this guy is.”

  He nodded. “OK. But I have a feeling Jill is going to be a little disappointed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not perfect.”

  “What?”

  He hesitated. “The person she set you up with is me.”

  Color flooded my cheeks as I processed what he’d just said. What he’d been trying to tell me for the last ten minutes.

  “You?” I squeaked again.

  Paul nodded again. “Uh-huh.”

  “But…” I stammered. “But why?”

  A waitress showed up, some chick with pink hair and a barbell through her lip, and handed us menus.

  “What do you mean why?”

  I looked at the menu but the words blurred together. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Or of what was happening with Paul.

  “I mean, why you?” I shook my head. “You don’t like me. You feel sorry for me.”

  “And you are utterly clueless.”

  “What?”

  Paul shifted in his seat, moving closer. “I’m a nice guy, right?”

  I nodded. He was the nicest guy I knew.

  “And I don’t mind helping people out, you know?”

  Again, I nodded.

  “But do you think any guy would do the things I’ve done for you, for a girl he just feels sorry for?” He smiled, shook his head. “I bought, like, a year’s worth of tampons for you.”

  The waitress returned with two glasses of water. I gulped half of mine down in one swallow.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “You’ve never once expressed interest in me. Ever.”

  “Well, duh. You were with Chase. And when you weren’t with him, you were wanting to be with him. Doesn’t exactly bode well for the guy waiting backstage, hoping for a shot. But I figured if I hung around enough, you might get the idea. I didn’t realize I needed to hang a sign in front of you.”

  “But, other girls…” I thought back to high school, back to all of the times I’d seen him over the years since we’d graduated. “You’re always with someone, Paul. Always.”

  “Hey, I go out. Absolutely.” He played with the menu, folding it and unfolding it. “I dated a ton of girls. Dozens.”

  For some reason, I flinched. I didn’t want him to quantify.

  “But it’s only because I couldn’t find what I was looking for.” I looked at him and he offered me a smile. “I couldn’t find someone like you.”

  “So you’re telling me that all this time, you’ve been hung up on me? The way I’ve been hung up on Chase?”

  “Well, no.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I didn’t crash your wedding.”

  “I’m not getting married.”

  He chuckled. “Damn right, you’re not.”

  “But, if I had been?”

  “Let’s just say, I wouldn’t have thrown a shoe at you to get your attention.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “No. I would’ve thrown something heavier. Like an anvil.”

  I couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed.

  And then something wet hit my nose. And another. I looked up at the sky. It was steel gray, balloon-like clouds threatening to burst.

  “It’s gonna pour any second,” Paul said, grabbing me and pulling me up.

  The skies opened and the downpour flooded us. I buried my face against his neck and breathed in. He smelled clean and warm, like spicy vanilla. His arms tightened around my waist.

  I turned my head to look up at him. His lips were a fraction of an inch away. And, like usual, I didn’t think. I just stood on my tiptoes and touched my lips to his.

  He didn’t taste like Chase and he didn’t kiss like Chase.

  He kissed like Paul. Tender. Thorough. And infinitely better.

  Reluctantly, I pulled away. My hair was plastered to my head and I was sure my mascara was running like a river down both cheeks.

  Paul didn’t seem to care. He planted a kiss on top of my head.

  “We should move inside,” he said. “You with me?”

  I nodded and held out my hand.

  “Yep. I’m with you.”

  THE END

  Save Me

  by Liz Appel

  ONE

  Seeing my parents siting on my couch was never a good sign. I could count the number of times it had happened since I’d officially moved from my bedroom upstairs into the basement apartment. None. None was a number I liked. One was a number that made me suspicious.

  I dropped my backpack on the round bistro table that served as my dining table.

  “Uh. Hi,” I said.

  My parents sat close together, their knees touching. Mom had her hands folded in her lap, a bright smile pasted on her face. My dad was thumbing through the latest issue of Cosmo, his eyebrows furrowed. In horror, I wondered if he was reading the cover article: His Burning Sex Need: Satisfy the Craving Your Man Won’t Admit To.

  I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottled water. “What are you guys doing here?”

  There were firm rules in place to o
ur living arrangements. I’d graduated from high school three years ago. To save money, we’d agreed for me to live in the basement as opposed to the dorms or my own apartment. The rules were simple: it was to be treated like my own place. They’d call before they came down. They’d knock. They’d respect my privacy. In return, I agreed to offer the same courtesy for going upstairs. Oh, and I’d also agreed to no all-night parties and to not turn my level into a brothel. Dad’s requests. No brothel meant less income, but I figured it was a fair compromise.

  “We have some news,” Mom said. Her smile moved from bright to beatific.

  I hadn’t seen her this happy since my junior year, when they’d decided to adopt a baby from El Salvador. We’d just sat down to dinner, a Mexican feast of burritos and enchiladas.

  “A what?” I’d asked as my fork clanged on the wooden table.

  “A baby,” my mom repeated. She speared an enchilada off the platter and transferred it to her plate.

  “Why?” I asked.

  I was sixteen. They were done with kids. Diapers. Toddlers. All of it. At least that’s what I thought.

  “There are so many children in need, dear,” Mom said. She slathered sour cream on top of a burrito.

  “Aren’t there some a little closer? Like in, say, North America?”

  “Your dad and I have researched this,” she said. “The adoption rate in El Salvador is so low. And those poor children! They live on the streets if they’re not adopted, you know.”

  We’d just finished discussing poverty in my Global Connections class and I wanted to point out that millions of the world’s children lived on the streets. And I was pretty sure they weren’t all located in El Salvador.

  “Okayyyy.” I grabbed a handful of tortilla chips from the opened bag on the table. “So, when is this going to happen?”

  “Soon,” she promised. “Right, Hank?”

  My dad looked up from his newspaper. “What?”

  “The baby. From El Salvador.”

  His expression cleared. “Yes. The El Salvadoran child. What about it?”

  Mom waved her fork in the air. “I was just telling Katie our big news.”

  He nodded. “Oh, good. Yes. Very exciting.” He buried his nose back in the paper.