by Beth Burnett
“Hi, I’m home,” I call as I walk into the apartment. The pot smell isn’t as bad as I feared. Smells like my mother is baking, actually. One good thing about my mother, she was a vegetarian long before it was cool to be a vegetarian. She won’t be cooking any turkey spaghetti. Leah calls out from the kitchen. “Hi darling. Come on in, I’m making cookies and getting to know Harry.”
I walk into the kitchen where Leah is sitting in one of my rickety kitchen chairs with her feet up on the table. The smell of chocolate chip cookies is permeating the air. I’m going to gain a hundred pounds by the time she leaves, I know it. Harry is curled up on my mother’s lap, sound asleep. “Isn’t he precious,” she coos. Yeah, precious. Precious is not exactly the right word for a thirty pound sack of orange flab, but whatever makes her happy. Lynne bounces in, and slides into the other chair.
“Oh, Davey, your mother has been telling me about the greatest class that starts this week.”
Leah nods. “Dr. Sheila Ward. The pioneer of the Total Woman Sexual Health Seminar. It’s the best way to learn about your own body and take charge of your own sexual health. Now she’s giving a six-week class. You have to go with us.”
I’ve met Dr. Ward. She’s a fascinating woman. We got into a discussion about whether or not all women have g-spots and she offered to take me into the woman’s room and show me mine. I declined. I’m picturing a group of women sitting naked in a circle looking at their own vulvae with mirrors. Somehow I can’t see myself in this setting. “When is it?”
“Friday, 6 PM to 8 PM. We thought we’d make an evening of it and go for a nice dinner after,” Leah says.
“Uh, I can’t. I have a date on Friday.”
Lynne and my mother both look shocked. “A date,” Lynne finally spits out. “Well, good for you.”
It isn’t as if I have never had a date before. There is no reason for this shock. Though technically I don’t have a date for this Friday, either, but I can change that.
Monday morning rolls around. It feels weird to be going to work on a Monday, but it has been fantastic to have a long weekend. I actually managed to de-stress a little bit. Sunday with my mother and Lynne ended up being quite fun. We did eat way too many cookies, but I was able to convince both of them to walk in the park with me. We watched movies and I braided my mother’s hair, while she cajoled me to grow mine out. Leah and Lynne talked about Sarah and the break up and Leah actually had some pretty good advice. She even got Lynne to promise to at least turn her cell phone on and start answering some of Sarah’s calls. All in all, it was a great day. But it is exhausting being around my mother. She’s unpredictable, which keeps me in a constant state of low-level anxiety. Even now, as I’m booting up my computer and getting ready to start my work day, I’m wondering what she might be doing alone in the apartment. I thought about trying to rush home at lunch today, but I have to let go sometime. She is fifty-six years old, after all. She can take care of herself.
My cell rings. “Andy, what’s up?”
“Lunch today?”
“Can’t. I’m covering Steve and Erik, so I will probably just eat at my desk. Want to join?”
“No, I was going to hit Hot Tamales. Think I should call your mom?”
“She would love it.” She would, too. She adores Andy. She loves me, and she loves Lynne. But I think if she really had her wish, Andy would be her natural-born daughter.
“K, talk to you later.”
Maybe I should call Danny. I still have my hand on the phone and he suddenly pops into my head. Well, I need a date for Friday night. What if I just call him? He’s beautiful. He has a warm smile. I’ve dated men for worse reasons than that. I’m rummaging through my purse. Here it is.
“Hello.” His voice is as soft and low as I remember it.
“Hi, Danny?” I don’t know why I’m questioning. I know it’s him. Stupid. I’m nervous for some reason, but I don’t know why.
“Hey, Davey.” He recognizes my voice. And he sounds happy to hear from me.
“Hey.” I don’t know what to say. I am at a total loss. I feel like an idiot. Hey? The best I can do is “hey”?
“Davey, I’m so glad you called. I was hoping you would call. I’d love to spend some time with you. Do you want to go out?”
Thank you, thank you, thank you. He’s making this easy for me. He sounds completely sincere, like he really is happy to hear from me. At any rate, he has definitely stepped in to cover for my idiocy, which is a point in his favor.
“Davey? Still there?”
“I’m sorry. I was thinking. Yes. Friday? How’s Friday?”
“Friday sounds perfect.” He’s smiling, I can tell. “I’m going to assume we should meet somewhere.” He pauses. “I would hate to contradict your mother’s words of wisdom.”
I laugh. “Yes, let’s meet somewhere.”
“Polly’s on Clifton? Do you know it?”
“Know it? It’s my all-time favorite restaurant.”
We make plans to meet, and say goodbye.
Ron walks in as I’m hanging up the phone.
“Hi gorgeous,” I chirp.
He looks at me sideways. “Hi? Everything all right.”
“Ron, my love.” I grin hugely. “Everything is all right. Everything is perfectly all right.”
Chapter Five
I am terrified. This is stupid. I haven’t been this nervous for a simple date in years. I must be losing it because my last date was so horrible. Either that, or this angel truly made an impression on me. The thing is, it’s not like he’s super hot, or anything. He’s not super tall, or super muscular. I mean, I might have noticed an outline of a bicep, but he’s not buff or anything. He doesn’t look like a guy who spends a lot of time in the gym. It’s just that face. I can still see it so clearly when I think about him. Besides, my last couple of boyfriends were big, muscular, workout fanatics and I always felt like they were judging me when I wanted to sit on the couch eating ice cream for breakfast on a Sunday morning. Even if it was technically Soy Delicious Vegan ice cream. Well, I have to do something to make up for all of those grilled cheese sandwiches.
I’ve changed clothes four times. I thought about wearing a dress, but Polly’s isn’t really fancy and I don’t want to be completely overdressed. As much time as I’ve spent there for lunch, I have never had dinner there. I must not order the grilled cheese sandwich. The problem with eating the world’s best grilled cheese sandwich is that I generally end up with giant drips of cheese down my chin and sometimes on my chest. Definitely not first date food. My mom and Lynne are sitting on the bed, giving me advice.
“Wear that cute sundress with those strappy heels.” Lynne is in favor of me looking like a girl.
“You can borrow something of mine.” Leah, really. My mother has absolutely no clue about how to dress. If it looks like something that was worn at Woodstock, or like something a gypsy fortune teller might wear to a fancy dress party, she’s all over it. Otherwise, forget it.
I decide on a variation of my standard work outfit. Boot cut jeans that ride slightly low on my hips, a low cut top that is long enough to cover any muffin top spillover, and chunky heels. I might as well highlight my best feature by showing a little cleavage, while hiding the stomach. For once my hair is sticking up in all the right places. I add the tiniest bit of mascara and some shiny lip gloss.
“Take your own money,” Leah says.
“Mom, I know.”
“Don’t call me Mom!” She rolls her eyes towards Lynne. “The most important thing you girls can be is independent. Don’t rely on some man to pay for everything and don’t get into a situation where you need him to drive you home.”
Lynne grins. “Not something I have to worry about, Leah.”
These are the lessons that have been hammered into my head since birth. Always meet your date, don’t tell him where you live. Don’t bring him back to your apartment. Don’t have sex with him until he’s met your friends, and make sure he knows that your frien
ds know where you are if you do end up going to his place. Don’t get drunk on a first date, don’t lose sight of your drink. Don’t do drugs with someone you don’t know, unless you’re with someone else you trust. For someone who espouses the tenets of free love, my mother has a lot of rules.
Finally, Lynne and Leah leave for their sex class. It is so blissful to have a few quiet moments in the apartment. I sit on my bed and try to find my Zen. Breathe deeply in through the nose, out through the mouth. Relax. He’s only a guy. You’ve gone on plenty of dates with guys. Some good, some bad, some truly horrible. This cannot possibly be worse than the date with Ted the douche-nozzle.
I give myself plenty of time to get to Polly’s. It’s about five minutes away from my work, which makes it about a half an hour drive from my house. I look at my watch as I enter the restaurant. I’m about two minutes early, but Danny is already there, sitting at a table by himself, watching me as I enter. He looks even more beautiful then I remember, and my heart skips a beat when he smiles. This is so stupid. I am a forty year old woman, not some hormonal teenager. I smile back at him as he stands up to greet me.
“Davey, you look beautiful.”
“It’s good to see you again,” I say.
He holds my chair for me and waits for me to settle before taking his own seat.
“I have only been here for a few minutes and I didn’t want to presume to order for you. Did you want a drink?”
I want a drink. Yes, I want a drink. I hate ordering a drink on the first date. I could go for something frou-frou and girly, but I don’t want to set the expectation in case we end up spending a lot of time together. At home, I usually drink beer, but beer seems kind of classless on a first date. I don’t want to seem like a boozer by ordering the wrong thing. I finally settle on a compromise.
“I’ll have a vodka and cranberry juice.”
Danny smiles and nods at the waitress. She comes over and winks at him. “What can I get for you, darling?”
Darling. She’s leaning forward and her obviously bought and paid for cleavage is spilling over her neckline. To his credit, Danny keeps his eyes on her face. “My date will have a vodka cranberry and I’ll have a bottle of water.”
Crap! A bottle of water. I want to change my order, but I’m afraid it will be too obvious now that he has already ordered. Water, who drinks water on a date? Christ, he’s probably an alcoholic. Maybe he will feel awkward with me drinking around him. He’s just looking at me, maybe he’s disgusted because I drink vodka. Is that a bad drink? Maybe I should have ordered rum or something less … strong. I definitely should have just ordered a coffee.
“Danny? Hey. Do you feel uncomfortable with me drinking alcohol? I could change to water or coffee.”
He starts, then smiles. “No, not at all. I’m hoping that you’ll find me so interesting that we spend hours at this restaurant, and if that’s the case, I better pace myself.”
I laugh. “I was afraid I was going to be the downfall of your abstinence.”
Now Danny is laughing. “If you were, it would be worth it.”
“I have to admit, I’m addicted to this place. They have the world’s best veggie burgers here. Okay, to be completely honest, I do love their veggie burgers, but I’m addicted to their grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m a vegetarian. I’m trying so hard to go vegan, but I go a few days, or even a few weeks, and eventually, I break down and eat one of their grilled cheese sandwiches. It’s just they’re so…” I break off and pause. “Davey,” I say out loud. “Stop talking!”
I can’t tell if Danny is smiling like that because he is amused or because he thinks I’m an idiot. I need to kill this babbling habit.
“I am a full on vegan,” Danny says. “But I completely respect your right to eat grilled cheese sandwiches.”
I raise my eyebrow at him. “How generous.”
“I have to be honest about something, too,” Danny says, leaning forward.
I’m intrigued. It better not be a secret wife. “Go on.”
“After the night we met, I saw you here a couple of times.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I was having coffee and you came in and ordered coffee to go.”
“It’s my morning addiction,” I confess.
“So, I had coffee here every day for a week.”
He’s cute enough that it could be considered sweet and adorable, as opposed to creepy and stalkerish.
“I asked Bradley about you, but he refused to give me any information. I think he thought I was a stalker.” Bradley is the owner of Polly’s.
“You are a stalker!” I say, wagging a finger at him. “Why didn’t you say hello?”
“I gave you my number. I figured if you wanted to talk to me, you would call. I didn’t want to pressure you.”
“What if I hadn’t called?” I grin.
“I probably would have accidentally run into you again at some point as I sat at Polly’s every day.”
I laugh. “Well, it’s a good thing I called and saved you from being a complete stalker.”
“It took you long enough.”
“Things have been a little strange in my household lately,” I shake my head, rolling my eyes.
“Tell me.”
So I tell him all about Lynne and my mother and the stupid cat and the pot and the piles of stuff everywhere and suddenly, as we’re talking about it, it seems ridiculously funny. Danny knows just where to be sympathetic and just where to laugh and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m feeling the joy that comes from that connection with an attractive man. I’m remembering how to flirt. Danny makes it easy. He is so charming, so natural. We laugh at the same jokes. We end up ordering a veggie burger and a giant salad, deciding to share both. He finally orders a drink. Beer. I should have known.
“Danny, you haven’t said, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a writer.”
“A real writer? Like you make a living writing? Or a waiter who is writing a novel?”
Danny laughs uproariously. “Nice talk,” he says. “But, no … I make a living.”
“Well, I’m impressed then. I have no talents. Is it possible I’ve read anything you have written?”
“It is very unlikely,” he replies. “I mostly write articles and essays for magazines and educational materials. Extremely boring.”
“Still. That’s pretty cool.”
“I’m glad I can score some cool points somewhere.”
“True,” I agree. “After admitting you love Star Trek, you needed something to put you back over the edge.”
We continue to laugh and flirt. We feed each other bites of veggie burger and fresh vegetables from the amazing salad. Danny is fascinated by my relationships with Andy and Lynne and my mother, but he doesn’t have a lot to say about his own relationships.
“My mother died when I was a kid, and my father and I don’t speak. I have a few friends, but nothing like what you have with Lynne and Andy. There is no one in my life who has been there since grade school or even from my twenties.”
“How old are you?” I had put off asking, because he looks younger than me and I was hoping it wasn’t by a lot
“I’m thirty-five,” he replies.
Five years. Does that make me a cougar? I’ll have to ask Steve and Erik, they’ll know. I don’t think five years makes that much of a difference, but it still makes me the older woman. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“How old are you?” Danny asks, touching my hand lightly.
“Forty.”
He clutches his hand to his chest. “Dear God, no!”
“Shut up!” I throw a piece of cucumber at him.
“Five years is nothing,” Danny says easily.
Easy for him to say. He’s on the younger side of five years. I hate being the older one in a relationship, everyone expects me to be the responsible one.
I lean forward and touch his wrist. He immediately flips his hand around and takes mine.
There is a small electrical pulse running through my body. Part of it is the high of a fantastic conversation, part of it is the feel of his skin. I want to have his arm around me. I’m thinking in romance novel clichés now. I’m pretty sure my bosom is heaving.
“Danny, tell me one of your deep, dark secrets.”
He shifts, leaning closer, holding my hand tightly. His voice is low and deep.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” he whispers.
“I promise,” I reply, whispering as well.
“I can’t have exposed feet when I sleep.”
“What? Like your feet have to be under the covers”
“Yeah. Even when it’s really hot, I can’t sleep if I don’t at least have a sheet tucked around both feet.”
“In case of what?” I’m still whispering.
“I’m not sure. Anything. Murderers, ghosts, bears, whatever.” His face is slightly flushed.
“I can see ghosts sneaking in through the bottom of the bed, but I can’t imagine bears and murderers taking the same approach.”
“I can’t explain it. I’m not afraid of the dark. But if I’m in bed, I have anxiety if my feet are out of the covers.”
“That’s not too bad,” I console.
“Really?”
“No, I have one, too.”
Danny finishes his beer, orders us both more drinks. The waitress has given up trying to flirt with him. Maybe he is on his best behavior because it’s our first date, but he hasn’t even responded to her not-so-subtle hints. “Go on,” he says.
“I’m really afraid of bugs.”
“Bah. Lots of people are afraid of bugs.”
“Yes, but say I see something lying on the floor that looks like a bug, and my first impression is that it is, indeed a bug.”
“Go on,” Danny says, smiling.
“Well, I’m so afraid of bugs that even after I figure out that it isn’t a bug, I still can’t pick it up.”
“So, for example, you see a leaf…”
“Or a piece of string.”
“Or a piece of string on the floor, and you know that it isn’t a bug…”