by Kilby Blades
Well, forget Arnie. She wouldn’t waste another sliver of energy on a bigot. But she would report his ass.
She opened the second message from a guy named Devon. Decent name. Another bad PeachPic. This stringy-haired person wore sunglasses, which the PeachDate instructions discouraged.
I like my black coffee with a little cream.
How do you like your cream?
Sarah frowned. What in the sweet hell did that even mean? She scrolled up. Underneath Devon’s thoughtful prose, he had attached a photo of his pasty, bumpy penis and hair-sprouting ball sack.
She dropped her phone to the floor and leaped from the couch, her hands covering her mouth in disbelief.
“What. The. Actual. Fu -”
“Hi Mommy!”
Grace bounded into the family room and gave Sarah a tight hug around her waist. Sarah hadn’t heard the school bus’s telltale squealing brakes, or the front door’s creaking hinges, or her daughter’s fast-paced footfalls. Arnie’s ignorant message and Devon’s sorry family jewels had temporarily cut off her senses.
She forced herself to recover for Grace. She bent down to her daughter’s level and gave her a proper hug, holding on longer than usual.
Sarah pulled back so she could look at her daughter’s beautiful brown skin and eyes. Grace had inherited most of Sarah’s features, including the bright highlights in her hair, while Melody looked like Greg’s mini twin, with her big hazel eyes and lopsided grin.
“Did you have a good day at school?”
“Yes! We had our Christmas party today.”
“Oh, shi...shoot!” Sarah thumped her forehead. “Wasn’t I supposed to send in some popcorn or something?”
“You did! Everybody loved it. And the juice.”
Sarah had zero recollection of purchasing anything for that party. She thought that, after nearly three years, the widow fog would have dissipated. It had certainly gotten better, but not completely vanished.
She sat back down on the couch and Grace joined her.
“You were supposed to help pass out the food, though,” Grace said in a small voice. Sarah closed her eyes and groaned. She hadn’t remember that, either.
“Don’t worry. Other moms helped. And dads.” Grace twisted her lips and batted her eyes. Sarah stroked her cheek.
“How did that make you feel?”
“I don’t know. Bad.” Grace fiddled with her fingers. She hadn’t broken down in a long time, but every so often she got quiet and pensive. Sarah would have given anything to take her kids’ pain away.
“I’m so sorry I missed your party, honey. I think my brain is fried.”
“You just need to sleep more. And you know, be happier.” Grace perked up and grinned. “Can we put up some Christmas decorations? Asking for a friend.”
Sarah hadn’t put up a tree or lights since their world imploded. “Without your dad, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas,” Sarah said.
Grace patted Sarah’s shoulder. “But we’re still here, Mommy.”
Tears stung Sarah’s eyes. That girl’s wisdom amazed her. “You know what? You’re right. We’ll get the lights out tonight. I’m not sure about a tree, but we’ll see.” She kissed Grace’s forehead. “Tell that to your ‘friend.’ ”
“Yay!” Grace raised her arms in triumph. Several crumpled papers fell from somewhere. “Oh. I forgot about my homework.”
“Right before Christmas break?” Sarah shook her head. “Let’s put them under something heavy to flatten them.”
“It’s OK. Watch this.” Grace lay the papers on the couch and ran her small palm over them several times. When she finished, the dog ears remained, but she held the papers up with pride.
“See? Good as new!” Grace smiled broadly at her mother, her two thick braids swinging like pendulums over her small shoulders.
“Very good. You want to get started at my desk while I fix you a snack?”
“Yeah, but first, I gotta pee!” Grace jumped down, shed her coat and raced to the hallway bathroom.
“Make sure you wash your hands!” Sarah called. She grabbed her phone from the floor. Moving fast, she took screenshots of the nasty messages, then brought up PeachDate’s site and searched for the “report abuse” button. Done. She got as far as attaching the images when Grace returned, shaking her wet hands as proof that she’d washed them.
Sarah assembled a paper plate of fruit salad and cheese-flavored tortilla chips. She handed Grace a small glass of water.
“Thanks, Mommy.”
“You’re welcome, baby. Try not to spill anything on your papers.”
Sarah leaned against the counter and finished her report. The site sent her an automated thank you and promised to get back to her within 24 to 48 hours.
All the talk about Christmas made Sarah wonder if anyone at PeachDate would even see her message before the holiday, let alone launch and complete an investigation.
Sarah mouthed an F-bomb. She couldn’t continue accepting messages until this mess got straightened out. Sarah went into her account and deleted her profile to stop the incoming PeachNotes. PeachDate’s inquiry might not get resolved until after the first of the year. She saw her chances of vetting a companion ahead of Febzilla dwindling right before her eyes.
The dates rattled her skull.
February 7, February 10, February 14.
February 7, February 10, February 14.
She imagined herself raking leaves in freezing temperatures again, falling into the pile and getting lost forever.
She needed this companion thing to work.
Sarah went back the homepage. Maybe she could email someone about her situation and get the ball rolling sooner than later.
She had trouble finding the “contact us” button because an article covered about a third of the homepage. The headline read, “Q&A tonight with PeachDate founder Carter Sheffield at his alma mater.” Sarah studied his photo. Yuck. He had such a thick, full, itchy-looking beard, she couldn’t tell what he truly looked like. She liked clean-shaven men, like Greg. .
Sarah scrolled down for the details of the Q&A. A sly smile spread across her face. Who better to help her than the creator of the site?
“Hola, mami,” Melody sang. Sarah jumped. She hadn’t heard her come in, either.
“Calma, calma.” Melody loved practicing and teaching Spanish to her family, even when neither Sarah nor Grace could remember most of the words. Melody hugged them, then plopped onto the couch, earbuds in.
Sarah walked up to her and gently kicked her foot. She looked up.
“I need you to watch Grace for a few hours tonight.”
Melody pulled her earbuds out and cocked her head. “Do you have a date?”
Grace gasped and ran over to them, her face aglow. Well, at least Sarah knew how they felt about the prospect of her dating.
“Of course not. I’m going to a business Q&A.”
“Ew.” Melody scrunched her face. “Sure, I’ll watch mi hermanita.”
Grace’s face fell. “What about the Christmas lights?”
“You and Mel can pull them from the garage and start untangling them. I’ll hang them up tomorrow.”
Melody nodded. “Muy bien.”
“Gracias.” Sarah had hit the jackpot for great kids. She blew a kiss to Melody and started for the stairs.
“ Do you use your site to find dates for yourself?”
Laughter broke out among the standing-room only crowd gathered in Central Atlanta Technical College’s auditorium. Carter sat in a club chair on the stage, a microphone in one hand and an index card with the question in the other.
“Why is that always the first question?” he asked. The laughter continued, rising to the vaulted ceiling. Carter loved these kinds of gatherings. Nothing beat interacting with a live crowd about the subject he loved.
“The answer is, yes. I’ve actually had a few PeachDates. My matches are usually women who are mathematically inclined, with an artsy streak.”
“That�
��s me!” someone in the crowd shouted.
Carter blushed and shook his head. “Some dates were friendly get togethers for coffee or a baseball game, others were more serious, with dinner by candlelight and all that. I enjoyed them all. But as you may remember from my video welcome, I lost my wife six years ago. Dating can be complicated. I’m not looking for anything long term at the moment.”
A portion of the crowd let out a collective whine.
“You just want the beard,” he said.
“And a beard ride!” someone called out.
The uproarious laughter that followed didn’t pipe down until the event coordinator grabbed Carter’s mic and made a plea for silence.
The next several questions had to do with creating a memorable profile, taking an attractive selfie, and responding to potential PeachDates. Carter breezed through them with efficiency and confidence.
“OK, next question: How soon after reporting dick pics and racists can one expect action from PeachDate?” Carter froze for a moment before lowering the card in his lap. “P.S. Asking for a friend.”
The room’s energy went from party to funeral.
Carter puffed his cheeks, then blew out a rush of air.
“Let me start by stating under no uncertain terms that PeachDate does not tolerate impropriety of any kind,” he said, his voice strained. “My team vigorously enforces our community guidelines. In the few instances where members have stepped out of line, they were banned for life. We don’t mess around. It’s a serious issue that we fix as quickly as possible, usually within a few days.” Carter scanned the crowd. “If the person who asked this question wants to talk to me directly after the Q&A, please don’t hesitate to pull me aside. I need to get to the bottom of this.”
From the middle of the auditorium, Sarah watched a small crowd flank Carter near the stage stairs. The event coordinator had instructed everyone to let Carter walk through to the vestibule in the front of the hall, then form a line to ask him quick follow-up questions.
Sarah squeezed through the assembly and made her way to the line, wishing she hadn’t blown off watching his welcome video. She’d had no idea that a widower had started PeachDate. Listening to him speak about his wife, Sarah felt a connection to him, even while sitting in the audience. He had walked in her shoes. He would understand her pain, and why she needed to alleviate it.
After a few minutes of not moving, several people got impatient and left the line. The coordinator started doing the “cut” signal, waving his hand back and forth in front of his throat, when questions ran too long.
The closer Sarah got to Carter, the better she could make out his features. He had a beautiful head of golden hair styled into a man bun. But his beard looked even itchier in person. She thought of the beard ride comment and winced. She couldn’t imagine sitting on that scratchy thing.
And then suddenly, she could. Clear as day.
Sarah got wet, fast. She shifted her weight from side to side. She’d had dirty thoughts about models and celebrities, but not a real person, and certainly not a hipster who looked like he had a woolly mammoth glued to his face.
As if hearing her thoughts, Carter looked up and locked eyes with her. She gave him a single, polite nod, and he smiled. He had a perfect set of gleaming teeth. She could see his lips too. Fuller than she imagined, they looked extremely kissable.
Sarah fidgeted again. She had to focus. The person in front of Carter continued to talk, ignoring the event guy’s hand signal to stop. Finally, the man walked away and Sarah stepped up.
She suddenly realized she hadn’t rehearsed what she’d say. She’d had all that time in line to come up with something intelligent and clever. Instead, she mentally went on a beard ride.
Carter extended his hand. “Thanks for coming.”
“Hi.” Sarah’s lips trembled and her heart raced. She glanced at the coordinator, who pointed to his watch as if to say “hurry up.”
She blew out a breath.
“I’m Sarah. The friend.”
Carter wrinkled his brow and tilted his head, but it only took him a second to figure out what she meant.
“Oh!” he cried. “My God, I’m so sorry that happened to you!”
“I appreciate that. I didn’t come here to embarrass you. I was told the only way to ask a question was to write it down. Obviously, that’s not true.” Sarah glared at the coordinator, who waved her off.
Carter whispered something in the man’s ear. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“OK folks, we’re going to have to end things now,” the man announced. The seven people behind Sarah grumbled and cursed as they filed out of the vestibule.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Sarah said.
“Yes I did. This is serious.” Carter asked the event guy if they could hang out in the auditorium for a while and chat.
“You’ve got about an hour,” the guy said.
“That’s more than enough time,” Sarah assured Carter.
One hour turned into three.
The coordinator hung around in a back office for as long as he could. When he emerged and saw Sarah and Carter still chatting, he told them they’d absolutely have to leave when the custodial staff came through.
Sarah showed Carter the nasty PeachNotes and described how they’d made her feel: pissed. Violated. Worthless. She talked about her late husband and her two children, and explained why she’d registered on PeachDate in the first place.
“Febzilla,” she said. “I’ve got a triple whammy coming up.”
Carter listened intently, juggling outrage, empathy, sorrow and a powerful attraction - his first to an older woman, and a mother.
He’d spotted her in line before she noticed, and could hardly keep his eyes on the people in front of him. Her high cheekbones brought to mind a young Eartha Kitt, and even in the vestibule’s harsh canned light, he could see the gleaming bronze, auburn and silver highlights threaded among her dark brown braids. She wore a black scarf dotted with white tiny hearts headband-style, the long ends hanging down the back of a black sweater embellished at the neckline with white faux pearls. And although her jeans had a relaxed fit, they couldn’t hide her marvelous curves.
Carter took notes on his phone about her awful PeachDate experience and vowed to get to the bottom of it long before Febzilla. He promised to refund her money but keep her account open, free of charge.
“On a personal note,” Carter said, “I want you to have my cell number. Feel free to call me if you need someone to talk to, anytime. The hand we’ve been dealt can suck.”
“You’re not lying,” she sighed.
He asked if she had a piece of paper and a pen, but Sarah gave him her number instead, which surprised him. He worried that his cell phone offer had come across as too forward.
Carter dialed her number, hanging up after the call buzzed her phone. Sarah created a new contact, and Carter did the same.
Just then, the custodial staff came in and quickly began tidying up the discarded cups, napkins, and soda cans.
“I guess that’s our cue.” Sarah stood and slung the long straps of her colorful Bohemian purse across her body. She checked the time on her phone.
“Shoot! I didn’t know it was so late!” She dialed a number, then brought the phone to her ear.
“Hey, Mel. I’m about to get on the train. See you soon.”
Carter rose from his seat. “I can give you a ride.”
Slowly, Sarah looked up from her screen. The wide-eyed expression she had when she caught him looking at her in the line returned.
“Oh, I don’t mean like that,” Carter clarified through a nervous chuckle. “I mean, I can take you home. You might be waiting a while for the train. Or I can call you an Uber.”
Sarah checked something on her phone again, then agreed to the ride.
As soon as Carter opened the vestibule door, a sharp, cold wind slapped them both across the face. Sarah shivered violently and hugged herself, rubbing her arms. She di
dn’t have a coat.
“Here.” Carter lifted his poncho over his head and handed it to her.
“Are you sure?” Sarah’s teeth chattered.
“Of course.” He helped her put it on, accidentally grazing the top of her sweater in the process. .
“Sorry!” Now he’d done it. Down boy, he chided his excited wood. It didn’t listen.
Either Sarah didn’t notice the unintentional feel-up or she didn’t hear Carter’s apology. She adjusted the poncho and thanked him. They continued the walk to the parking garage, talking about the weather, which led to a chat about Christmas, which rolled into a conversation about how much holidays sucked after losing a spouse.
“Especially Valentine’s Day!” they said in unison, laughing.
When they got to his car, Sarah gave him her address so he could put it in his phone’s GPS. The talked during the entire twenty-minute ride to Sarah’s side of town.
“Nice lights,” Carter said as he pulled up to her house. Multi-colored lights hung in the living room bay window and in each of the upstairs windows.
Sarah brought her hands to her mouth and sucked in a breath.
“They did it,” she cried. She brought her hands down and stared at the house.
“Your kids sound amazing.”
“They are. They deserve a better mom.” Her voice broke.
“I’m sure you’re a great mom. You’re doing this thing solo. I can’t imagine how hard that must be. Go easy on yourself.” Carter handed her a tissue from the center console. Sarah dabbed her wet eyes, then unhooked her seatbelt.
“Thank you for the ride. I mean, the lift. Fo bringing me home.”
“No problem. I’ll update you on the investigation as soon as I can.”
Sarah exited the car and started up the walkway. Carter didn’t want to see her go, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. They didn’t have anything in common besides losing their spouses. He’d only met her a few hours ago. Sure, she had killer looks and he’d copped an inadvertent feel. But he had absolutely no other viable reason to have such a strong attraction to her. She didn’t fit his ideal match in the least.