by Jae
“Be right there.” Denny shoved the remainder of her croissant into her mouth and hastily typed, Sorry. This senior citizen needs to get back to work.
The last thing she saw before she tossed her phone into her locker was, Don’t break a hip.
For once, Denny grinned all the way to the register.
Chapter 3
On Friday evening of the next week, Denny sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched her sister put on makeup. She had never understood the need to use more than some lip balm, but the familiar ritual seemed to help Salem calm down. She had buzzed around the house all day, nervously anticipating her first date in ages, until Bella had rolled her eyes and disappeared upstairs, where she and Salem shared the upper level of the two-story townhouse.
Salem gave herself a once-over in the mirror above the sink, shook her head, and wiped off the lipstick before applying a different one that, to Denny, looked exactly like the first one.
Okay, maybe the ritual wasn’t helping as much as Denny had hoped.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, but she ignored it to address her sister. “Calm down. You look great.”
“That’s what you said when I was five and insisted on wearing those ugly pink rubber boots to school.”
“But this time it’s true. Matt better appreciate you. And if he doesn’t, I can always beat him up for you.” Denny flexed her biceps, which was pretty impressive from lifting all the canned goods at work, even though the muscles were hidden beneath a layer of chubbiness.
Salem giggled nervously. She lowered the lipstick and met Denny’s gaze in the mirror. “Are you really okay with this? If you’d rather not watch Bella, I can stay home and—”
“Would you stop it? I’ve been watching her since the day she was born. Hell, I watched you since the day you were born! Why would I suddenly mind?” Denny got up from the edge of the tub and stepped up to her sister so she could study her. “What’s going on?”
Salem exhaled a long breath and turned to face her. “I know I’m being silly. It’s just… I think I’m freaking out a little.”
Denny gave her an affectionate smile. “A little?”
Salem pinched her. “Do you think it was a mistake to say yes when he asked me to go out with him? Matt isn’t some stranger that I never have to see again if we mess this up. We have to work together.”
“He’s probably aware of that, and that means he cares enough to take the risk. That has to count for something.”
“Hmm.” The wrinkle on Salem’s forehead smoothed out. “It does.” She looked down into Denny’s eyes, and even though she had been taller than Denny since she’d been fifteen, it was still mildly annoying that she was able to do that. “Thank you.”
“Any time, you know that.” Denny returned the pinch. “Now go get ready. Your daughter and I have a ricotta cheesecake to devour, and I have a feeling she’s hiding out in her room and won’t come down until you’re gone.”
Chuckling, Salem turned back toward the mirror, and Denny returned to her place on the edge of the tub.
Her phone dinged again.
When she pulled it out of her pocket, she discovered two new messages from the now-familiar number.
The first one, sent several minutes ago, said: Should I try my luck with the sneakers again or assume they are cursed and wear something else on my next date?
Beneath it was a second text, which she had probably written when Denny hadn’t replied: Sorry. I don’t know why I’m messaging you again. I promise my parents did have that stranger danger talk with me.
Denny couldn’t help grinning. If someone had asked her ten days ago, she would have said a stranger who kept contacting her was a major annoyance, but for some reason, she wasn’t bothered by it at all. Well, I promise I’m not a serial killer, so it’s fine, she wrote back.
Hmm… Wouldn’t you say the same even if you were?
Probably. But cutting up a body and hiding the pieces is too much work.
Sneaker Woman sent a wide-eyed emoji. How do you know?
I watch way too many crime shows.
Ah, so that’s what kept you from answering. Central Precinct is on tonight, isn’t it?
And you know that how? Denny typed, then paused with her finger over the send icon. Other than her sister and maybe Julie, she had never bantered back and forth with a woman like this. There was something freeing about having a conversation without knowing a lot about the other person. But now that she thought about it, her old self-consciousness returned, and she tapped the backspace symbol until the unsent message disappeared. Instead, she typed, Sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I was busy calming down my sister’s first-date jitters.
Wow, Sneaker Woman replied. Maybe you should do that for a living—become a professional first-date whisperer.
Denny laughed. If only Sneaker Woman knew her track record, she would know how ridiculous that suggestion was. She could barely remember her last first date, much less the last time she had made it to a second date.
Salem looked up from her bottle of perfume. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Just something I read.” Denny vaguely pointed at her phone. She wasn’t ready to tell Salem that she was still talking to the woman who had sent her an accidental text. Her sister would probably think it was strange.
When Salem continued to get ready for her date, Denny returned her attention to the phone. So, about your sneakers question… You aren’t going out with Mr. Covered-in-Hickeys again, are you?
Sneaker Woman sent back a no with at least ten o’s. I’ve got some self-respect, thank you very much. I’m going out with another guy.
The more she talked to Sneaker Woman, the more Denny admired her for putting herself out there so fearlessly. It always took Denny weeks—okay, months, if she was being honest—to work up the courage to ask a woman out, and when she finally did and the first date didn’t go so well, she usually wasn’t in the mood to repeat the experience anytime soon. But the same couldn’t be said for Sneaker Woman, who, about a week after her last dating disaster, was getting ready to go out with someone else.
I’m not normally a serial dater, Sneaker Woman sent when Denny didn’t reply right away.
I wasn’t judging, honestly. More like in awe.
Well, don’t be, Sneaker Woman replied. This wasn’t my idea. I hit my big three-oh last month, and my best friend—your number neighbor—gave me a six-month subscription for No More Frogs because she thinks I’m too picky and will stay single forever if left to my own devices.
“No More Frogs?” Denny said out loud. “What the heck is that?” But she didn’t want to ask to avoid coming across as clueless.
“It’s an online dating service,” Salem answered. “You should try it.”
Denny barked out a laugh. “No, thanks. I have a feeling they are not screening their users very well.”
It’s an online dating service, Sneaker Woman’s next message said.
I know, Denny texted back. Was there a haughty I-knew-that-all-along grin emoji?
Riiiight.
Damn, was she that transparent, even to a stranger, or was Sneaker Woman that perceptive?
Another text arrived before she could think about what to write next. Oh shit. I have to get going, or I’ll be the one showing up late. So, sneakers or no sneakers?
Sneakers. Denny stabbed the screen decisively.
A thumbs-up appeared beneath her message. Thanks, oh great First-Date Whisperer.
“Do I pass muster?” Salem tugged on her top, which revealed the tiniest bit of cleavage.
Denny put her phone away and looked her up and down. “You look great. But…”
Salem shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah?”
“You’re missing a pair of pink rubber boots…or yellow sneakers.”
“What?”
Denny smiled. “Forget it.” She pushed Salem out of the bathroom, just as the doorbell rang. “Go and have fun.”
A sen
se of déjà vu swept over Eliza as she trudged up the stairs to her second-story apartment later that night. Why am I doing this to myself? She could have spent the evening at home, finishing the cockatoo earrings she was making for her boss’s upcoming birthday. Instead, she had suffered through yet another date that consisted mostly of her throwing the waiter apologetic glances and trying to think of an excuse to leave early.
Wasn’t dating supposed to be fun? All it had done was make her feel humiliated.
She was tempted to delete that damn No More Frogs app from her phone, but she had promised Heather to give it a chance, so she needed to stick with it for the entire six months.
Sighing, she kicked off her sneakers and stared at the footwear. “I’m starting to think you’re really bad luck.”
Of course, they didn’t answer. The silence in her apartment engulfed her.
Maybe she should finally get a cat.
She changed into her favorite pair of yoga pants and the cozy sweater with the hole along the shoulder seam, then went into the kitchenette. When she opened the cabinet, she remembered that she had given Heather the last of the cookies and made herself a mug of cinnamon rooibos tea instead.
She settled in her easy chair, turned on the TV, and aimlessly flicked through the channels.
Oh, Central Precinct was still on. She put down the remote and watched Detective Linda Halliday lean across a small metal table as she interrogated a suspect, who was clearly starting to sweat.
Was her first-date whisperer watching too?
Eliza peeked at her phone. No new messages.
What did you expect? He was probably busy going about his life and wasn’t interested in texting a perfect stranger. Was it weird that she kept talking to him?
Somehow, it was easier to tell him about her failed date than to talk about it with Heather—maybe because he didn’t know her and didn’t expect anything of her. He seemed nonjudgmental, funny, yet earnest at the same time.
Maybe I should go out with him instead. The thought made her grin. Knowing her luck when it came to dating, it would end in some kind of disaster. One of them would get food poisoning, or they wouldn’t have anything to say to each other face-to-face.
No, it was safer to just keep texting…if that was what he wanted too.
He seemed like an honest guy, so if he didn’t want to talk to her, he would tell her to go away, right?
Nothing about his answers indicated that he wanted to get rid of her, though. He had readily replied to each of her texts and had even answered her teasing with some jokes of his own. Maybe he was home alone in a too-silent apartment as well and would be happy with a distraction.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she opened their thread of messages and added a new one. Is it just me, or is Linda crossing the line a little?
She watched as the detective on TV moved her paper cup, filled to the brim with steaming hot coffee, dangerously close to the edge of the table, where it threatened to topple over into the suspect’s lap.
The scene ended, and still there was no reply.
Eliza clutched her mug while she balanced the phone on her knee. Maybe he did think she was weird.
Just when she considered giving up on this awful day and calling it a night, her phone chirped.
A grin spread across her face. It was a reply from Mr. First-Date Whisperer. She put her mug down to read what he had written.
Who’s Linda?
And here I thought you’re a fan of Central Precinct, Eliza answered.
Ah, that Linda. I missed that part of the episode. I had to go upstairs to make sure the kid is really down for the count, not reading under the covers.
Eliza paused with her thumbs already poised to type out a reply. For some reason, she had imagined him to be just as single and unlucky in love as she was. Oh, she texted back. You’ve got a kid?
No. I’m keeping an eye on my niece while my sister is out.
What a decent guy! After the last two dates she had been on, it was good to see that men like him still existed. So, how was it? Your sister’s date.
I don’t know. She hasn’t made it home yet.
Then her date is probably going better than mine did.
Uh-oh, he texted back, making her smile. What happened?
He seemed like a nice guy when we were chatting online, Eliza typed. But when we were in the restaurant, he decided it was okay to order for me without asking me first.
Ugh. Mr. First-Date Whisperer sent a face-palm emoji. I’m sorry. That’s really shitty.
Why do men do stuff like that? Don’t they realize how condescending that is?
I have no idea, Mr. First-Date Whisperer replied. I’m probably the worst person to give you advice on men.
Well, you are one, right?
So far, he had been typing as quickly as she, but now he seemed to take forever answering. Had her text offended him, or was he writing an essay about the male psyche?
But when his answer finally came, it was short. Um, actually…no.
No? No to what? Eliza re-read the last two lines of their conversation. Wait, what? Hastily, she scrolled back up to the face-palm emoji and studied it more closely. It wasn’t the male emoji, as she had first assumed; it was the more ambiguous one that could represent a man, a woman, or a nonbinary person. She tried to remember why she had assumed he…she was a guy but couldn’t remember. Groaning, she hid her hot face against the bend of her elbow. Just when she had thought her day couldn’t get any worse…
Her phone chirped in her hand, making her look up.
You didn’t know I’m a woman? Ms. First-Date Whisperer had written.
No. I just assumed… Sorry, I guess I jumped to conclusions. God, this was so embarrassing.
That’s fine. No big deal. It’s not the first time that’s happened.
It wasn’t the first time a stranger who had sent her an accidental text had mistaken her for a man? Before Eliza could find a polite way to ask what exactly she meant, another text bubble appeared.
Sorry, I have to go. My sister just got home and wants to tell me all about her date.
Of course, Eliza replied. For once, she was glad to finish their conversation because she didn’t know what to say. She needed some time to adjust her mental image of the person she’d been talking to. Good night.
Good night.
Then nothing else came, as if Ms. First-Date Whisperer no longer knew how to talk to her either.
Eliza gulped down her tea, which had long since gone cold, and wiped her brow. Well, at least she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself by trying to ask him…her out!
Denny and her sister sat at the dining room table, where most of their important conversations took place after Bella had gone to bed. A giant piece of cheesecake sat in front of Salem, but she hadn’t even tried it yet, too busy raving about her date with Matt. She was glowing, and Denny had a feeling it wasn’t an effect of the beer she had drunk at the haunted pub tour.
Salem beamed. “God, I had forgotten how much fun it is to flirt with someone.”
Denny gave a noncommittal hum. “I wouldn’t know.” By the time she usually figured out someone was flirting with her, the poor woman had given up because she assumed Denny wasn’t interested. But maybe she hadn’t misread the occasional flirty undertone of Sneaker Woman’s texts after all. If she had thought Denny was a man, maybe she had indeed been flirting.
“God, and the way I felt when he put his hand on the small of my back.” Salem fluttered her fingers over her heart, then paused. “Do two women on a date do that?”
“Hmm?” Denny’s gaze veered from where she had watched Salem excitedly wave around her fork to her face. “What?”
“Do two women guide each other inside a pub with one hand on the other’s back?” Salem asked.
“Yeah, sure. Well, at least I do it. But never on a first date.” Usually, Denny needed at least three dates before she felt confident enough to touch the other woman in any way.
>
Salem put her fork down. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.”
A frown line carved itself between Salem’s brows. “You don’t have reservations about me going out with Matt, do you?”
“No. It’s not that, I promise. He seems like a great guy.”
“Then what is it? And don’t try that nothing bullshit on me again. You’ve been distracted ever since I got back.”
Denny sighed. “I’m older by thirteen years. How come I sometimes feel like the baby sister?”
“Twelve years, nine months. And don’t think I didn’t notice you’re trying to change the subject.” Salem pinned her with the glare she normally reserved for Bella when she tried to get out of doing her chores.
Denny reached across the table and stole the chocolate leaf garnish off Salem’s wedge of cheesecake to buy herself a few more seconds. “You remember the woman who accidentally texted me last week?”
Salem nodded.
“We, um, kinda kept texting.”
“Kinda?”
Denny ignored her interruption. “And I just found out that she thought all this time I was a guy.”
“Huh. Awkward.”
Another sigh escaped Denny. That was what she had enjoyed most about her text conversations with Sneaker Woman: they hadn’t been as awkward as her usual attempts to talk to women. But now that had changed. “Yeah.” She could imagine how embarrassed she would feel if the situation had been reversed. She would want to crawl into a hole and never come out again. “She’ll probably stop texting me now.”
Salem studied her across the table. “And you don’t want that to happen.”
“No.” Denny surprised herself with how fast and decisively she answered.
“Well, I guess then you’ll have to be the one texting her,” Salem said. “Phones work both ways, you know?”
“Smart-ass.” But maybe Salem was right. So far, it had always been Sneaker Woman who had initiated a conversation. This time, it might be up to Denny to contact her. If only she could figure out what to say.