No More Terrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I laugh. “Both? You see, for years, I thought I hated you.”

  He shakes his head as he pushes some hair away from my face that’s been blown there by the gentle breeze. “I get it. I wasn’t exactly the most considerate sixteen-year-old, particularly not in ice cream parlors.”

  “We can agree on that. You know something? When it comes to you, I cared enough to want to hate you, when really, deep inside, I didn’t hate you at all. I loved you.”

  “You loved me?” he whispers.

  I bite my lip and nod. “I did, and I do.”

  His smile reaches from ear to ear. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that, Darcy, because I love you, too.”

  Before I even have the chance to process his words, he leans down, scoops me up off the ground, and twirls me around in the air. I screech with joy, happiness bursting out of me as we spin.

  Me, Darcy Evans, the girl who was happy enough to simply find good guys to date, who signed up to the No More Bad Dates Pact with her friends to find her Happy For Now. I thought it would be enough. I thought there was no way I wanted anything more than to date normal, nice guys. Guys who weren’t selfish or nasty or downright weird. It turns out I was wrong.

  When it comes to Alex, I want the full immersion, no holds barred, take over the freaking world kind of togetherness you can only have when you’ve finally met The One.

  “You are an unexpected joy, Darcy Evans.”

  I chortle. “Now who’s the one who sounds like a fully-carded member of the elderly? Remember the bosom buddies conversation?”

  “How could I forget? And I don’t care. When I think of you, that’s what I feel: joy.”

  “Me too.”

  He smiles and takes my hand in his. “Shall we walk back down together? We’ve only got a couple hours before we need to be at the gallery.”

  I return his smile, my heart full. “Sure.”

  We walk the whole way down holding hands, content in our newly declared love for one another. Outside my apartment, he leans out of his car window and tells me he’ll see me tonight at the opening. I stand on the sidewalk and watch as he drives away, my limbs light, my chest radiating with warmth.

  We’re in love! I can barely believe it. Alex loves me, and I love him back. I roll our names around in my head. Alex and Darcy. Darcy and Alex. It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  I walk up to the door to my building and slot in the key. And that’s when I hear it. A teeny, tiny voice in the back of my head. It’s been there for days. I’m sure it’s not a big deal, and I keep telling myself not to even think about it for one tiny second. But still, it’s right there, in the back of my head, and I can’t seem to switch it off. It’s this silly, niggly voice that’s trying to erode my happiness. It keeps whispering loud enough for me to hear. “It’s not real.” It makes my insides twist painfully, and I’ve got to push it away, tell it I’m not listening, that Alex feels the same way about me. He does, he told me, right there on top of Mt. Eden.

  And push it away I do, through getting ready in my gorgeous new dress, through driving to the gallery, through all my last-minute checks that everything’s in place before people begin to arrive.

  We’ve got the full alphabet of celebrities attending, from A to Z, as well as various movers and shakers of the wellness world. And, most important in my book, my wonderful friends and the star of the show, my love, Alex.

  And you know what? Despite having to push that little voice aside, I am totally onto it. I pride myself on my organization skills, but even I’m impressed with the way I’ve pulled this together in such a short timeframe. I’ve got the technology in place, the photos are all hung and looking spectacular, the caterers are out back preparing, and the aura-readers-slash-serving-staff are busy telling one another what hue they’re each sporting today and what they need to do to improve it. Who knew aura reading was a competitive sport?

  After I’ve finalized the order for the food to be brought out, I return to the main room in the gallery. It looks completely amazing. The images are clustered so they each tell a story, just as Alex wanted. The lighting is perfect, subtly illuminating the main photo in each cluster. Alex is going to love it.

  There’s a knock on the door, and it pulls me out of my thoughts. I stride over to unlock it, and Larissa comes sweeping in, as she does, wearing a gorgeous dress (yes, it’s blue), trailed by probably the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen in the flesh, dressed in a classic James Bond-style tux.

  “Darcy!” She air kisses me, and I breathe in her perfume. “It looks wonderful in here. Haven’t you and Alex Walsh done so well?”

  I beam at the mention of his name. That’s the thing when you’re in love: you can’t keep the happiness from seeping out. Your heart leaps at the mere mention of his name. “Thank you, Larissa. It was your vision, remember? If it wasn’t for you, Alex’s photographs wouldn’t be on the walls right now.”

  She nods her blonde head sagely. “That is so true.”

  And it is true. If we hadn’t gone into Cozy Cottage Café that day and seen Alex’s work on the walls, if Larissa hadn’t insisted on having him open her gallery, well, I’d probably still be wrapped up in my hating him. Really, I should kiss Larissa for what she’s inadvertently done for us, but her makeup is perfect, and I know she’d be upset with me if I messed that up.

  She places her tiny hand on her companion’s arm. “Darcy, this is Adonis. He’s my new personal trainer, and he absolutely adores art. Don’t you, Adonis, darling?”

  “I do. I love everything about the art,” replies the aptly named Adonis in his deep, heavily accented voice.

  Larissa beams at me. “See?”

  “Great to meet you, Adonis,” I say. Did his parents know he’d live up to his name when they gave it to him as a baby? Just imagine if they’d got it wrong and he looked like Mr. Bean!

  He nods his perfectly proportioned head on top of his, well, Adonis-like body, and replies, “Yes.”

  “The photographer will be here soon,” I say to him. “His name is Alex Walsh, and he’s very talented. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about his photography. Or anything else you might want to discuss with him. He’s very smart and interesting and well-traveled.”

  That’s the other thing when you’re in love: you find every opportunity to talk about the guy. Needless to say, the caterers have heard all about what an amazing photographer and boyfriend Alex is, as have the guys who set up the PA system, the wine delivery man, even the aura-readers-slash-serving-staff, who are now all vying for the chance to read his aura.

  “Yes, I like the art,” Adonis says in response.

  I shoot him a puzzled look. Either he doesn’t understand English well or he got all the looks and not so much of the brains. I clap my hands together and say, “Well, that’s just great, Adonis!”

  “Darcy, darling, I need to show you something,” Larissa says as she rummages around in her purse. A moment later, she pulls out the tiniest dog you could ever see. “This is my new therapy dog, Bissou.” She nuzzles the squirming dog as she makes funny little baby sounds.

  “You brought a puppy to the gallery opening?” I question in surprise. Art and puppies don’t usually mix too well, but then this is the woman who wanted wallabies dressed as waiters here tonight, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise.

  “Not any puppy. She’s Bissou.” She holds the dog out to me, and I have no choice but to take it in my hands. I place it against my chest, and it licks my neck, wagging its tiny tail.

  “Oh, she’s so soft and wriggly,” I say as I gaze down at her cute little face. “Oh, and I can feel her rapid heartbeat against my chest.” I stroke her soft fur and beam down at her. “Larissa, she’s gorgeous.”

  “She’s full of exuberance and the joy of living. I find her energy totally affirming,” Larissa says, sounding very Larissa. Which makes sense, really.

  I gaze down at the dog. She scrambles up, reaches out with her pink, floppy tongue, and li
cks me right on my nose. “Thank you, Bissou, but I guess your name does mean ‘kiss’ in French.” She settles down a little, and I hold her close against myself.

  “Oh, she must really like you,” Larissa says with a motherly smile. “She’s never calm like that in someone’s arms unless she’s—” Her features change as she trails off.

  “Unless she’s what?” I ask, but then it becomes obvious what Larissa means. Bissou is peeing, right on my lovely new dress. “Oh, my gosh!” I pull her away from me, and the final drips of pee land on the floor by my feet. Immediately, Bissou begins to do her puppy wriggle once more. I hand her back to Larissa and survey the damage. My gorgeous new pale blue chiffon dress has a large wet patch on it, right in the middle of my chest.

  “Oh, no, Darcy,” Larissa exclaims.

  “I’ve got puppy pee on me.” I stare dumbly at her.

  “Can you change?” she asks.

  I try to keep the edge from my voice as I reply, “I didn’t expect to get peed on so I only brought what I’m wearing.”

  Larissa tucks Bissou against her chest. “Pop outside and talk to Anton. He can take you home to change. Problem solved.” She gives me a satisfied smile.

  “But it’s only twenty minutes until opening. People will be arriving any minute now. I’ll never get all the way across town to my apartment and back here before then.”

  She rummages in her purse and pulls out a set of keys and hands them to me. “My place is only five minutes away, remember? You can wear something from my wardrobe. We’re about the same size.”

  I look from my normal-sized body to Larissa’s celebrity proportioned one and scrunch up my face. “Do you have anything . . . roomie? A kaftan, maybe, or a muumuu?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I do,” she says with a flick of her dainty wrist. When I don’t move from my spot, she adds, “You’d better go.”

  “Yes. Right.” I give a brisk nod. I’m going on a wild goose chase to Larissa’s house to try to find something in a non-size zero to wear to my boyfriend’s big exhibition opening. Fan-freaking-tastic.

  “See you soon,” Larissa trills before she wraps her hands around one of Adonis’s bulging arms and says, “Adie, darling, come with me. I’m going to show you the images before everyone else gets here.”

  I glance at my watch. It’s now less than twenty minutes to the official opening. A frisson of nerves rolls through me. Alex will be here any second now to enjoy his special moment, and I’ll beam with pride when everyone says what an incredible photographer he is. “That’s my boyfriend,” I’ll tell everyone, and they’ll all be jealous of our obvious love. But first, I need to fix this puppy pee situation, and fast.

  I rush past the squabbling aura readers, still using color as a weapon against one other, find Larissa’s shiny, black car parked down the road, hop in, and instruct the somewhat bewildered Anton to get me to Larissa’s place on the double. Luckily, he takes it all in stride (he does work for Larissa Monroe, after all), and before long, we’re whizzing through the streets.

  I sit tensely in the back and send a message to Alex. Puppy pee disaster. Will be back at the gallery by opening. I add Good luck! with a bunch of hugs and kisses before I press send. Then, I sit back and try to relax. It doesn’t work. Instead, I drum my fingers against my thighs as we fly through the streets. Finally outside Larissa’s building, the car slows, and I almost do a ninja roll out of the car I’m moving so fast.

  Once I’m in her dressing room, which really should be renamed a “dressing floor” it’s so huge, I flick through her wide assortment of dresses and skirts and jackets and blouses. Everything is teeny tiny, just like Larissa, and my nervousness turns supersonic as it aims for Mars.

  And then I get a brainwave. Pregnancy clothes. Of course! Larissa’s daughter is only three, she’s got to have some lovely big, roomie pregnancy clothes still lurking in here somewhere. I begin to pull open drawers and rifle through them until eventually, I find a maternity bra. Yes! I’m on the scent. The next drawer down and I’ve hit the jackpot. Hastily, I pull the first dress out and hold it up. It’s not ideal, but with next to no time to the opening, it’ll have to do. I rip off my damp dress and throw its replacement on over my head. It’s roomie enough to fit my normal proportions, and I don’t even bother to check my reflection in the mirror.

  Dashing out the door, I glance at my watch. Seven minutes until opening! I race down to the car and instruct Anton to step on it to get me back to the gallery on time. There’s no real hope I’ll make it—this is New Zealand’s largest city with the traffic to match, not some one-horse town where everything’s closed by five o’clock—but a girl has got to try. This is Alex’s big moment, and there’s no way I’m going to let a splash of puppy pee get in my way of being there with him for it.

  Anton tears down the street toward the gallery. We come to a pause at a red traffic light, and I can’t wait any longer. I jump out and run the final two blocks, narrowly missing being plowed down by an SUV going in the other direction.

  My dainty high-heeled sandals were never designed for running on a sidewalk, but where there’s a will, there’s a way, as the saying goes, and I reach the gallery as the final stragglers are being ticked off the guest list at the door.

  I smile at the doorman as I catch my breath and follow the guests into the gallery. I scan the room, searching for Alex. I move through groups, excusing myself and saying hello to familiar faces until I find him. He’s standing alone, staring at one of his photographs, his back turned to me. The man I love.

  I reach out and touch his arm, and he jumps. I laugh as I roll my eyes over what he’s wearing. He’s in a navy jacket over a crisp white shirt and a pair of jeans, a combination I helped him chose at his place a couple of nights ago.

  “Hey. You look amazing. I knew you would.” I reach up and kiss him on the cheek then smooth off the smudge of lipstick I leave there.

  His eyes skim over my outfit. “What the heck are you wearing?”

  I glance down at my brightly colored, baggy maternity dress with its swirly pattern. On closer inspection, each swirl looks a little like a baby in the womb. Larissa once wore this? And, more to the point, I’m now wearing it? “I got puppy pee on me from Larissa’s new dog, and I’ve had to borrow this,” I explain.

  “Yeah, I saw the dog.”

  I crinkle my forehead. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” He nods his head so fast, it looks like it could become unhinged and roll away.

  What has gotten into him? Nerves. It’s got to be nerves.

  I rub his arms. “Look, Alex, I know you’re nervous, but believe me, it’ll all be okay. You’ve exhibited before.” I peer at his face.

  His jaw is locked, his eyes sunken into his head. He doesn’t just look nervous, I realize with a jolt, he looks completely freaked out. “Alex?” I say breathlessly.

  He glances down at me briefly, before looking away, his jaw twitching.

  “What’s going on?” I ask with a dash of trepidation. Okay, more than a dash.

  I notice his hands balled into fists at his sides.

  “I-I can’t do this.”

  Something moves in my chest, and I place both my hands back on his stiff arms. “It’ll be fine, Alex. It’s just nerves, that’s all. I’ll be with you right throughout.”

  His eyes drop to mine and he mutters, “I’m sorry,” before he turns and begins to walk away.

  I watch as he makes his way over to the front door, pushing past people in his haste. I dash after him, through the throngs, out the door, and onto the sidewalk. I see him, about twenty feet away from me, striding down the street.

  “Alex!” I call out, fear and confusion making my heart rate soar.

  He stops and turns.

  I rush toward him. “Where are you going?” I ask when I come to a stop in front of him, my voice breathless.

  “It’s too much. All of it. It’s too much.” He begins to pace.

  “What’s too much?”
r />   “All those photographs covering the walls.”

  It’s the photographs? Relief floods through me like an open dam. I know what’s going on here. He’s having a moment. I know them all too well. Larissa has them on a regular basis. I’ve learned all I’ve got to do is talk her down. And that’s what I’m going to do with Alex now.

  I take a step closer to him. “I want you to take a deep breath and then another. Everything will be okay. You’ve got to trust me.”

  He looks at me as though I’ve tried to explain quantum physics—and got it really, really wrong. “You don’t get it.”

  “I do, Alex. Trust me. It’s all going to be okay,” I repeat in soothing tones.

  He shakes his head. “It’s more than the exhibition,” he replies, and a weird feeling in my chest begins to grow.

  “What do you mean?” I ask and hold my breath, every diabolical scenario playing out in my head. He doesn’t love me. He wants nothing to do with me. I was just the rebound girl after all.

  “I mean us,” he says. “You and me. I . . . I can’t do it.” He shakes his head and I blink at him, not wanting to comprehend what he’s saying.

  “What do you mean, you can’t do it?” There’s a steely edge to my voice now as what he’s trying to tell me begins to sink in.

  His eyes glisten as he repeats the same, horrible words, “I can’t do it. Darcy, I’m so, so sorry.”

  My hands drop from his arms, and I stare at him wide-eyed in utter shock. “You’re breaking up with me?”

  He nods, much slower this time, and I think I detect a hint of regret in his face, but it’s gone before it’s even fully formed. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

  I let out a loud “Ha!” my voice tinged with a mixture of anger and dismay. “That’s the worst line in the book, Alex. Couldn’t you at least try to be original?”

  He raises his eyes to mine, and I see his pain. I can’t feel sorry for him, I simply can’t. He’s breaking up with me. He’s ending what we’ve only just begun.

  I press my lips together and lock my jaw. “Why?” I ask simply, even though I know exactly why. When he doesn’t respond, I ask, “Is it because of . . . Chetana?” I find it hard to say her name.