“What are you doing in Maui?” Ben and I both ask each other simultaneously.
“I live here./I’m visiting,” we answer together.
“But I thought you lived in New York,” I say.
“No. I have business there. But you live in LA, right?”
“I do.”
“Wow,” Ben says. “And yet, here you are. In my office.”
I nod slowly, still a bit flabbergasted. “Here I am. In your office. That could be our six-word memoir.”
Ben nods. “Huh. Sooo … How did Paris go?”
“Good,” I say, then quickly change my story. “I mean, we broke up. But good.”
“Interesting,” he says, nodding.
I lean in to him, looking for clarification. “Interesting how?”
Before he can answer, Jeff jokes, “Interesting in that he’s so fascinated with you at this moment, he has totally forgotten about the man with the bloody foot.”
Ben turns to Jeff. “Oh. Sorry. Let’s take a look at your foot.”
Ben examines Jeff’s foot, asks a few medical questions, then concludes, “You’re definitely going to need stitches. Let’s also get an X-ray just to be sure your bones are all okay.”
Within a few minutes, the nurse has taken Jeff to X-ray, and Ben and I have a moment alone to talk. “So, how are you liking Maui so far?” he asks.
“Other than being in a doctor’s office on my second day, it’s good.” I shake my head, still stunned. “Man. Had I known you were a doctor who lives in Maui, I’m not sure I would have ever let you leave the bar.”
Ben laughs at my (sort of) joke.
He thinks I’m funny. Good.
Then the laughter fades, and we share an awkward moment.
Ben grasps for some conversation with a doozy. “So … Paris guy is done with.” He nods his head toward X-ray. “Is this Maui guy?”
“What? Him? Noooo … No, Jeff’s a friend. A platonic friend. A gay, platonic friend.”
Ben nods, clearly observing me.
I nod back, trying to think of something clever to say. “So, a good-looking, single doctor. Are you gay?” Yeah. That was exactly the type of bon mot I was shooting for.
“Um … no. I’m straight. But I have friends I could introduce him to, if you’re trying to set him up.”
“Oh, no. Unlike me, Jeff has very few problems in that area.” Unlike me? What are you saying, Mel? “Actually he’s ditching me for a date tomorrow night, so I have nothing to do. Any recommendations?”
“That depends. Do you want to do something touristy like a luau, or just something laid-back, like checking out a great sunset?”
I want to do something with you! I am screaming in my head. I want to do anything with you! I’ll go pick up dry cleaning with you! I will happily wash a cat with you.
“I don’t know,” I say diplomatically, and far more calmly than I feel. “What would you suggest?”
Ben smiles and shrugs. “I’m off at five tomorrow. Are you free for dinner?”
“I would love that,” I say, suppressing the urge to giggle.
I have a date. With a gorgeous, well-traveled doctor who lives in Maui.
Kind of ridiculous. I think Marilyn would be proud.
FORTY-THREE
Several hours, five stitches, and one smoking-hot doctor’s phone number later, Jeff and I are back at his place. While I make dinner, Jeff lies on his couch, his wrapped foot elevated on a pillow and an iPad in his lap, stalking my new crush for me. “Okay, he’s not on Match.com, howaboutwe.com, or any of the other dating websites that serve the island,” Jeff informs me, sounding as serious as a supporting character talking to Tom Cruise via headset in, well, almost any Tom Cruise movie.
“I don’t want to know,” I tell Jeff firmly as I chop up lettuce in the kitchen. “The last few weeks have been all about doing something different: seeing new places, meeting new people, experiencing new things. And it’s making me really happy. So in light of that, I’m going to try a different way to date: no Internet stalking, no waiting by the phone, no overthinking what he says, where he takes me, or what he does. I will just live in the moment, and the relationship will unfold exactly like it’s meant to.”
“Wait. You mean you plan to actually go on a date to learn about the guy?” Jeff asks in mock horror. “Without any recon? Wouldn’t that involve asking questions and feigning interest?”
“Shut up,” I say, only slightly kidding.
“Seriously, if you want to ask questions and feign interest, become a bartender. It pays better,” Jeff tells me distractedly as he reads. “Man, there are more than twenty Ben Camerons on Facebook, plus a bunch of Benjamins. And don’t even get me started on the other social-media sites out there.” He turns to me and asks accusingly, “Are you putting green peppers in my salad?”
“Yes, because we just met today for the first time,” I answer sarcastically. “Just the yellow ones. I know.”
“And no tomatoes,” Jeff reminds me as he continues to read the screen. “Do you know when you google Ben Cameron, you get almost two hundred million results?”
“No, I don’t. Because, once again, I’m not going to google-stalk.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s not the famous cricketer,” Jeff says, almost to himself. He looks up from his iPad. “Famous cricketer. Sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it? Like lovable cat or good first date.” Jeff continues to read, then sighs. “Seriously, I can’t find him. Do you think he’s Amish?”
“No, I do not think he’s Amish,” I grouse. “Try Dr. Benoit Cameron.” Then I catch myself. “Wait. No. Don’t.”
“Already on it,” Jeff says happily, his fingers blurring over the keys.
“Here we go! Oooohhhh … fancy. Graduated from Stanford undergrad, apparently a swimmer there…” Jeff turns to me, smiling, “You know what they say about swimmers?”
“No, what do they say?”
“More likely to be eaten by sharks.” Jeff turns back to read. “Went to med school at Columbia, followed by an ER residency in Manhattan. Just moved here last year.”
“Fine. Now turn off your computer. Dinner’s almost ready,” I command.
As I open the refrigerator to grab dressing, my mind drifts to thoughts of Ben. I can’t help it. I am actively trying to stop myself, but it’s like trying to stop the ocean waves from crashing or a new Star Wars movie from being made. “Do you think he moved here for a girl? Wait! No! Don’t answer that. I’m not doing this to myself. I will find out anything I want to know about him tomorrow. And I will not even think about him until tomorrow. Tonight, I am going to enjoy a huge salad with you, watch a little Bravo—”
“Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
“—watch a little History Channel with you, then go to bed.” I bring large bowls of salad into the living room and hand a bowl to Jeff. He looks confused. “Okay, why are we having salad for dinner?”
“Because I need to lose fifteen pounds by tomorrow. Eat up.”
As Jeff and I dig into our salads, my phone beeps from across the room to alert me that I have a text.
We both freeze. I say nothing and continue to eat my salad.
Yes, obviously, I am wondering if it is Ben, hoping it is Ben.
But I’m not going to look.
Jeff and I eat in silence for a bit. Then he eyes me, amused. “You’re not even curious?”
I make a point to shrug nonchalantly. “I’m having dinner with my friend. I’ll check my phone after dinner.”
I know in my heart that everything I have just said is a lie. Because my first thought is Please be him. “I need some more croutons.” I pop off the couch and head toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. I’m good,” Jeff says through a full mouth.
On the way to the kitchen, I pass the phone on the counter to see that there is a God:
Hey. It’s Ben Cameron. I’m getting off work in an hour. Any chance you want to hang out tonight? (If you have to take care
of Jeff, I totally understand, and I’ll see you tomorrow.)
OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod.
I grab my phone, throw all of my sanctimonious lectures out the window, pull a Leilani, and thrust the phone into Jeff’s face. “What do you think this means? Should I go? What is ‘hang out’? He didn’t say ‘hang out’ at the airport; he said things like ‘vision of loveliness’ and ‘fell in love.’ What does this mean?”
Jeff pulls his head back a bit to look at the text. “Well, for one thing, it means he’s not in an airport for less than an hour with you. When we tell you we’ve fallen in love on the first date, you tend to freak out. And no man under the age of eighty should ever utter the words vision of loveliness aloud. Makes it sound like he still puts on his socks with garters.”
“Good point,” I am forced to admit. I look at the text again. “I think I should let him miss me a little. Conjure up a little mystery.”
Jeff pats me on the shoulder. He sounds a bit surprised as he says, “Good for you.”
“Wait.” I point to Jeff. “Except, how long am I here for? A week? Two weeks? Why miss out on an opportunity to see him? I’m not playing the long game here, I’m playing the short game. Hence…”
“Hence?”
“Hence,” I repeat firmly, “I should go.”
Jeff narrows his eyes. “Well … I guess there’s something to be said—”
“Then again,” I refute, “why would I want to make this easy for him? I mean, really, isn’t a girl’s favorite part of the relationship the beginning? When the guy’s trying hard?”
“Actually, I think a girl’s favorite moment of the relationship is right after she gets engaged. But by then she’s caught, which would mean your argument…”
I bug my eyes out at him.
“Sorry,” Jeff apologizes. “You don’t even really need me here in the room for this, do you?”
Jeff’s phone beeps a text. I look over his shoulder and see it is Brian:
Do you want me to come over and look in on the patient?
Jeff immediately types back …
I would love that. I’m sending Mel off on a date with a cute doctor.
“Wait! What?” I exclaim.
“Look, you know you’re going to go out with him. Now, you can either bore me for the next twenty minutes listening to you argue with yourself, or you can jump right in, say yes, and spend that extra time taking a shower and shaving your legs. Your call.”
I’m sure my mouth looks like a straight horizontal line as I stare at him, assembling in my head an unbelievably strong and witty comeback from an independent woman who doesn’t need a man.
Instead, I begin texting back to Ben as I ask Jeff, “You have razors in the guest bathroom, right?”
“Remember not to overthink it,” Jeff jokes as I head toward the guest room.
“Again, shut up.”
* * *
Well over twenty minutes later, I am showered, shaved, spritzed with perfume, and completely made up to look as if I have no makeup on.
I also have nothing to wear. Or at least nothing that says, Oh, are you here? You caught me completely unawares. I just happen to look this fantastic all the time, and without any effort on my part whatsoever. This just happens.
I stare at the clothes in my still-packed suitcase and wish I had time to hit the mall. I yell from my room to the living room, “I need you to help me pick something to wear. And by that, I mean I have nothing to wear.”
“Sometimes I prefer my dates that way,” Jeff yells back.
Within minutes, I walk out of my room wearing a beautiful, little black dress I bought in Paris.
“Wrong!” Jeff, still working on his iPad, declares from the couch without even looking over at me.
“You haven’t even looked at it yet.”
“I know you well enough to know your first attempt always tries too hard.” He turns around to see me. “I see I’m still batting a thousand.”
“This is a beautiful dress,” I insist, suppressing the urge to stomp my foot like a toddler.
“For cooler weather and a nicer restaurant, yes. But you are in the tropics on a Sunday night with a guy who just asked you out less than an hour ago. Assume you’re going for fish tacos and dress accordingly.”
I sigh, turn around, and head back to my room. Eventually, I settle on a sand-colored denim miniskirt, and a dark blue silk Hawaiian shirt that I borrow from Jeff’s guest closet. (I’m not even going to ask why he has an assortment of expensive Hawaiian shirts in his guest closet.)
After getting Jeff’s approval, I spend twenty minutes doing exciting things such as reapplying deodorant and fluffing out my hair. Finally, I reappear to Jeff proudly, throwing up my arms and announcing, “Ta-da!”
Once again, he doesn’t look up from his work. “Change the shoes.”
I let my shoulders slump as I turn back to my room to change out of four-inch heels and into some sparkly, flat sandals.
“There are condoms in my nightstand!” Jeff yells to me.
“I’m not bringing condoms,” I tell him firmly. “I’m not having sex.”
“No judgment. But in the last few months you have been a bit of a—”
“I’m done catting around,” I declare as I emerge from my room. “I’m sick of the aftermath. If he really likes me, he will drop me off at the end of the night, give me a quick kiss good-night, then ask me out again. If he doesn’t like me, he will drop me off, lie and say he’ll call me, and I’ll never hear from him again. Either way, it’s a million times easier to wait by the phone if you haven’t done the walk of shame.”
“A million times easier?” Jeff repeats doubtfully.
“Fine. Four times easier. My point is, it’s less likely to drive a girl to a Sara Lee cheesecake and a bottle of pinot for dinner.”
Jeff winces. “Why wouldn’t you at least go for a prosecco?”
“That’s what you took from my theory? A poor wine pairing?”
Jeff shrugs just as his doorbell rings.
“He’s here!” I whisper urgently, racing up to Jeff in panic. “Go answer the door.”
“Doofus, your doctor boyfriend put me on bed rest. I’m not supposed to get up.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and if I answer the door, I’ll look too eager.”
“And if you don’t answer the door, you’ll look like an asshole.”
“Oh. Right. Crap.”
I walk to the door, take a deep breath, and open it.
Ben stands in the doorway, holding a potted money-tree plant.
“Wow! Most charming thing ever.” I take the money tree and quickly put it in Jeff’s dining room. “All right, we’ll leave you alone. Don’t wait up!”
“Don’t come home too early,” Jeff says in a bright voice. “Where are you taking her? Fish tacos?”
“Ah! Brilliant!” Ben says, his face lighting up. “I was still debating. But you mean the place with the surfboards—”
“Yeah,” Jeff interrupts, “and that tree near the outside…”
Ben nods. “Plus it’s open—”
“Till ten on Sundays. Exactly. And they won’t kick you out if you stay late. Although for drinks after dinner—”
“Life’s a Beach. I’m way ahead of you,” Ben interrupts. “So, originally, I was thinking—”
Jeff puts out the palm of his hand. “Let me stop you right there. Trying too hard. Take her there—”
“The third time we go out. You’re right. What do you think about tomorrow?”
“Well, we were supposed to go to the Black Rock torch lighting today. Maybe tomorrow?”
Ben nods, impressed. “Good plan.”
I cross my arms. “I’m sorry. Am I getting in the way here?”
Ben looks confused. “No.”
Jeff smiles at me. “Actually, you are,” he says, gesturing to Brian, now standing in the front doorway. “Get out.”
I blow Jeff a kiss, which he pretends to catch and bring to his heart.
<
br /> Then I push Ben out the door.
FORTY-FOUR
Jeff nailed it when he suggested that Ben take me to a fish-taco restaurant. I’m guessing it’s one of the only casual restaurants in Kihei open late on a Sunday night. There are no waiters, you order at the counter, the tables are made to look like surfboards, and the restaurant is brightly lit. Very.
Not a romantic atmosphere by any stretch of the imagination, but maybe Jeff’s onto something. I’ve been on a zillion first dates where we’re both trying too hard, and I wound up spending more time worrying about what to order, what to say, and how to dress than I did about whether I even liked the guy. Maybe it’s time for a first date where I get to eat messy-eating food with my hands and get to say whatever pops into my mind.
“These tacos are amazing,” Ben assures me once our food comes. “Along with all the regular stuff you find in tacos, they also put coleslaw made with buttermilk in the middle. And all of the fish here is superfresh.”
I bite into my taco, accidentally dripping taco filling and coleslaw sauce all over my bright blue plate. The ahi tuna tastes insane. “Wow,” I say through a full mouth. After I chew and swallow, I tell him, “Man, that’s good. Star-Kist and ahi should not even get to share the same last name.”
“So much of the flavor has to do with how fresh everything is,” Ben says, swiping his taco in sauce that dripped onto his plate. “Particularly the fish. I’m telling you, the first few weeks I was here, I ate fish three times a day.”
“So what inspired you to move here?” I ask as I pop a delicious french fry into my mouth. “The food?”
“Oh, that. The weather. A few other things. Long, boring story with notes of self-righteousness.”
“‘Notes of self-righteousness.’ Sounds intriguing.”
“It’s not, I promise. Besides, I’d rather talk about you. So what happened in Paris?” Ben asks as he opens his second taco and pours Tabasco sauce on it. “Did you get all the sex you want?”
“Does anyone ever get all the sex they want?” I joke.
Ben makes a joke of motioning to an imaginary waiter. “Check.”
I laugh, then bring the conversation back to him. “So, did you go to medical school out here?” I ask, even though, thanks to Jeff, I already know the answer.
Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink Page 25