Starting from Square Two

by Caren Lissner

  But now Todd was here. He looked happy, and he made her feel happy. He was not like any guy she had ever met. And there was still much more to learn about him. The possibilities both excited and intimidated her.

  But what if he had seen something? A man’s razor? His pill bottles? Notes?

  There was no polite way to ask.

  He reached over and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

  “It was nice waking up with you,” he said.

  At the diner on the corner, the one that caught all the sunlight, they sat in a booth by the back window. Todd was back in his clothes from the night before, except that he was wearing Marc’s Celtics cap from their living room. He had asked Gert if he could wear it because his hair was a mess. She couldn’t tell him it was Marc’s. She wasn’t sure she liked Todd wearing Marc’s cap. She felt kind of lousy about it, actually.

  “Are you a fan?” he asked, sipping coffee. Behind him, outside, someone was trying to pull a yellow Labrador puppy along, but the dog wanted to sniff the sidewalk.

  Gert said, “My dad is.” She hoped that would be the end of it.

  “How does a guy from L.A. become a Celtics fan?”

  When first we practice to deceive… “He’s half-Irish,” Gert said, and she sipped her own coffee. She should tell him about Marc now. Right now. But a mellow morning-after breakfast didn’t seem like the right time.

  The waitress arrived. Todd ordered Sugar Corn Pops. She had to laugh. What was wrong with men? Marc had ordered cold cereal at diners, too. They were in a place where they could get fifty breakfast dishes, and men just wanted cereal.

  Gert ordered an omelette, toast and hash browns.

  As Todd turned to watch the window and the man with the dog, Gert looked at his profile. She liked looking at Todd.

  Her cell phone rang. Todd raised and lowered his eyebrows. Gert made a funny face. He laughed.

  “Gert!” Hallie said. “Where are you?”

  “Um, eating breakfast.”

  “Thank God,” Hallie said. “I thought you’d rush into things with What’s-His-Name.”

  “Nope.” Gert reached over and dabbed a spot of coffee off Todd’s chin.

  “You’ll never guess who Erika’s writing weird e-mails to now,” Hallie said.

  Gert wanted to get off the phone. “Who?”

  “Eden.”

  “The doctor from the café?”

  “Yes,” Hallie said. “Eden Youdani. They haven’t gone out yet, but they’ve been trading e-mails like mad. She’s afraid to meet up with him because he’ll figure out she’s not Jewish, so she keeps writing him these flirty e-mails but saying she’s too busy to see him right now. He asks her questions about herself and she only answers the ones she wants to. She says when they finally go out together, she’s going to get him drunk and seduce him, so that by the time he finds out she’s not Jewish, he’ll be too satisfied to care.”

  “Good plan,” Gert said absently. Todd was opening his little box of Corn Pops.

  “So tell me how your date went with Todd,” Hallie said.

  “I will,” Gert said. “But I’m walking out the door. Can I call you back?”

  “Yeah. Call and tell me what happened!” Hallie hung up.

  Todd said, “Who was that?”

  “Hallie. She wanted to know how our date went.”

  “Did you tell her about the unbridled lust?”

  “Ha.”

  Todd said, “It’s too bad you need to rush off to yoga.”

  She cringed. There was a yoga class at the community center, but she was going for the support group. Another lie she’d told. “It is too bad,” she said.

  “You want to take a ride on a train one morning?” Todd asked.

  This sounded interesting. “One of yours?”

  “No, I’d get fired. But there’s a chocolate festival they have every year in the spring, and they charter an old-fashioned train to get there.”

  “Chocolate!” Gert said. “I’m in. Where is it?”

  “Hackettstown, New Jersey.”

  “Hackettstown?”

  “I know it doesn’t sound too good, but you’d be surprised what you’d find in New Jersey.”

  “I’ve been through New Jersey,” Gert said. “It wasn’t a surprise.”

  “That’s why you have to take a train,” Todd said. “Anyone can drive down the Turnpike and see rotten-egg–smelling industrial plants. But if you take a train through the back woods, it’s a whole different world. There were these coal trains that used to go from Pennsylvania through western New Jersey and New York state, the Erie-Lackawanna trains. You take that route now, you pass through the ghost towns and mills and forests that they ran through one hundred years ago. It’s the way the country used to look. There’s this green viaduct in West Jersey, with all these arches over a huge ravine…you just have to see it. I get to see places no one ever sees.”

  She could see in his eyes how much he loved what he did.

  “I’d do anything for good views and chocolate,” she said.

  He smiled. “I had a clue. I saw the fondue pot in your kitchen last night.”

  She tensed up again. It had been a wedding gift. She was hiding so many things.

  “I…I mostly use it for cheese,” she stammered.

  “I’ve never had cheese fondue.”

  “Only chocolate?” she said. “Interesting. I make a mean Swiss mix.” She hadn’t cooked much since Marc had been gone. He’d liked putting wine in everything. Like cheese fondue.

  “Sounds great,” Todd said. He sipped the milk on his spoon.

  “I’ll make you some,” she said, wanting to take it back as soon as she said it. But then she thought about it. Maybe if she invited him to her place for dinner, she could tell him about Marc. Then she wouldn’t have to say it in a crowded restaurant or while a movie was on. Yes. That’s what she would do.

  No more excuses.

  “I’ll make dinner for you this week,” she said uncertainly.

  Todd looked interested. “That sounds good.”

  Chapter

  6

  Gert stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror at home.

  Nothing to feel guilty about.

  Right?

  She opened the medicine cabinet. There were none of Marc’s things there, or anywhere in the bathroom. He was definitely clueless.

  Which meant she had to tell him Thursday.

  She admitted to herself that it wasn’t just that the timing had been wrong. She was scared to death of telling him, and of his reaction. She didn’t want Todd to disappoint her.

  Todd was three years younger than she. The fact that she had already started to build a life with someone else, had already pledged her life to someone else, might scare him off.

  But by not talking about it, she was betraying Marc. If Todd couldn’t take it, that was his problem. Marc was the biggest part of her. She’d met him before she was old enough to drink, old enough to really know what the world was like. He was on her mind all the time. If Todd really liked Gert, he’d have to accept that important part of her.

  But was it so wrong that she’d waited?

  Erika was going to wait awhile to tell Dr. Yarmulke that she was Christian. You didn’t hit someone with the hardest things about you first. Hallie had told her about that—the Dating Disclosure Law. When you met someone, you let them get to know you, let them get to care about you…then, and only then, did you roll out the red carpet so they could step over the tacks.

  “Gert, you are clinging to this guy who you have nothing in common with!” Hallie said on the phone later that day. “Marc you went to college with. You two had memories. This guy has nothing to offer you. I know you’re excited because you just met him, but believe me, you’ll get bored with him. Did he even go to college?”

  “Yes,” Gert said, playing with a loose strand of gold thread on her couch. “You just assume he didn’t because of his job.” Gert wondered why Hallie was so suspicio
us of Todd. He hadn’t done one thing to indicate he was anything other than a good guy. “What difference would it make if he hadn’t gone to college, anyway?” Gert asked. “I like him.”

  “I know,” Hallie said, “but what do the two of you talk about?”

  “Everything,” Gert said. “Everything. He’s just the nicest guy.”

  “There are a million nice guys!”

  “But you always say there are none.”

  Hallie was quiet.

  “You know, you and Erika have these weird standards,” Gert said. “If someone wears the wrong shirt or doesn’t have the right job or is too short or too fat, you blow them off. How do you expect to ever meet anyone that way?”

  There. She’d said it. What she’d been thinking for years.

  Hallie paused. “You want to know the truth?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t have weird standards.”

  Gert wasn’t sure about that.

  Hallie said, “My standard is, I want to feel happy when I’m with someone. Is that such a weird standard?”

  “No,” Gert said.

  “You’re right,” Hallie said. “If you ask why I’m not interested in someone, I might say their nose is too big, or they don’t know how to dress, or they’re too thin or too fat or too plain. But the truth is, I only notice those things because of the real reason—that I’m just not feeling anything. But people don’t want to hear that. They always want an explanation. So I have to come up with something concrete even though feelings aren’t like that. If I did meet a guy and I felt happy with him for whatever reason, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass what he wore or how tall he was or what he did for a living. But when I’m with someone and it just doesn’t feel right, that’s when I start noticing the bad haircut or Chicago accent or unibrow. And it’s true that tomorrow I may go home with someone who you think is totally wrong for me. And the next day I might meet a perfectly nice guy who you think I should feel excited about, but I don’t. But if I do go home with someone, it means for a change, something feels right. For a change, I’m feeling hopeful. I just want to feel happy when I’m with someone. Is that so wrong?”

  Hallie did have a point, Gert thought. She shouldn’t have to justify not being attracted to someone.

  “It’s not wrong,” Gert said, slowly. “I want to be happy, too.”

  They both were quiet for a minute.

  Hallie said, “I know. I know you do.”

  “I’ll make a confession,” Gert said. “You’re right. I am rushing into things with Todd. I’m not good at being alone. I don’t even know how to do it. But it’s only because it feels right, like you said. If you talked to Todd, you’d know. He’s just the neatest guy.”

  “But you haven’t even been to his apartment yet,” Hallie said. “You told me so. How do you know he’s not living with someone?”

  “He lives with his roommate, Doug,” Gert said.

  “How do you know it’s not Dot?”

  “Hallie!”

  “I’m just looking out for you,” Hallie said. “It happened to Erika. And a girl I work with. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t warn you.”

  Gert took a breath. “It just seems like sometimes,” she said, “when you say these things to me, it’s more out of resentment. You and Erika both.”

  Hallie was quiet again.

  “Well,” Hallie said, “I think it’s not too hard to see that we do get jealous of you. You go to a bar, you get a guy. It’s always been that way. Guys just like you.”

  Gert didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “With Marc, with Todd…with other guys in college. You have something. I don’t know what it is, but you have something. I wish I did.”

  Gert held her tongue.

  “Do you know what might make me and Erika feel less resentful?” Hallie asked.

  “What?”

  “If women who got into early relationships, like you, acknowledged that they were lucky, rather than blaming single women like us for being single,” Hallie said. “I know you think it’s our fault that we haven’t met anyone, and you’ve practically said as much. But you have your own standards, too; it’s just that they’ve never had to be tested. Have you ever dated someone bald?”

  “No.”

  “Or shorter than you?”

  “No.”

  “Or of a different religion?”

  “No….”

  “Or much older than you?”

  “No….”

  “Or of a different race?”

  “No.”

  “Or a guy with facial hair?”

  “No. I haven’t.”

  “Or a guy who didn’t have a job?”

  “No.”

  “Or…”

  “I get the point,” Gert said.

  “Everyone has standards,” Hallie said. “Yours may be different than mine. They’re probably more liberal. But deep down, you still have them.”

  “I probably do,” Gert admitted. But Hallie and Erika were still too picky, right?

  “Do you know how you might help all of us?” Hallie asked.

  “How?” Gert asked.

  “If Todd is really such a great guy, then he probably has great single friends. Have you ever once thought of asking Todd if he has any friends that might come out with the two of you and me and Erika? Did that ever occur to you at all?”

  “I thought you wouldn’t be interested,” Gert said.

  “Of course I would!” Hallie said.

  “Okay,” Gert said. Maybe she could help. “Do you want me to see if Todd knows of any good single friends who might be interested in coming out with us and meeting you?”

  “Well,” Hallie said, “now that you mention it, yes.”

  That night, Gert called Todd.

  “I could introduce her to Brett Stoddard,” Todd said. “But he’s a dog.”

  “What do you mean, ‘He’s a dog’?” Gert asked. “He’s ugly?”

  She heard Todd turn on the water then shut it off and thought of Hallie’s comment about her never having been in his apartment. She tried to put it out of her mind. Why let Hallie make her paranoid?

  “No, he’s not ugly,” Todd said. “I mean, like when women say, ‘Men are dogs,’ Brett Stoddard’s a dog. He brags all the time about his methods for bagging women. He knows exactly what to say to get women to fall in love with him, and once they do, the challenge is over and he dumps them. He asks them a million questions about themselves, he takes their side in any argument, and every once in a while he quotes the only two poems he knows. One is by Shelley, and…I forget who the other one is. But he pops them into first-date conversation, and women go crazy. They’re so thrilled to be with a guy who quotes poetry that they sleep with him by the third date. After they sleep with him, he dumps them. And on to the next.”

  “Well, what does he want?” Gert asked. “It can’t be sex, if he stops seeing them after he sleeps with them.”

  “I think it is sex, but I think it’s also the challenge,” Todd said. “I guess part of sexiness is elusiveness.”

  Gert got quiet. “Then I guess they’re right,” she said.

  “Who’s right?”

  “Hallie and Erika. With all their dating rules. Maybe they’re right.”

  Todd was quiet for a second.

  “We’re talking about Brett Stoddard here,” he said impatiently. “Girls who want to be with guys like Brett Stoddard should play games. Girls who want normal, nice guys, who have real emotions and don’t try to hide them, should not play games. If you want a guy who plays games, then you play games.”

  Gert smiled to herself. “You know, you’re a good guy.”

  “That’s definitely a violation of your friends’ rules, to tip your hand like that,” he said.

  “Well, I want a guy who’s real,” she said, “and not Brett Stoddard.”

  On Sunday morning, Gert lay in bed until 11:30 a.m. It had been a long weekend already. FedEx battle w
ith Missy on Friday, date with Todd Friday night, conversations with Hallie and Todd Saturday. Today, she had a day of rest.

  She thought she should get up and buy the Sunday Times before all the copies were gone. She remembered how reading the paper with Marc each week, trading sections on the couch, was one of the most intimate things they did. Once, they were in their pajamas reading the comics and somehow started arguing over whether the leafy item in Dagwood Bumstead’s sandwiches was spinach or lettuce. Gert said no one put spinach on a sandwich. Marc said it was too dark to be lettuce. That led to a discussion of the fact that neither of them had ever made, or eaten, a Dagwood sandwich. Marc had immediately insisted that it become a project. They went to the supermarket that afternoon and loaded up a cart with turkey breast, ham, tomatoes, lettuce, spinach, Swiss cheese, provolone, pickles, bologna, salami, mustard, mayonnaise, bread and eggs to hardboil. In the kitchen, they worked side by side, laughing and daring each other to go higher. Their creations nearly toppled over. They ate as much as they could, but it was hard to get their mouths around them. Eventually, Gert and Marc fell onto the couch together, sated. It was the kind of thing you would only do with a significant other.

  She missed him, remembering his little projects. No matter who else was in the picture, she’d always want him back. Always, she thought. Was that terrible? How could she reconcile it?

  When she stepped outside, Gert’s block was alive and full of chatter. The Greek family from across the street was dressed up, headed to church. A gaggle of Indian kids was running around with a scruffy mixed-breed dog. Frosted spears of grass were springing back to life. Gert breathed the cool air. On the corner, a blue moving van was parked, its back ramp lying on the ground like a tired tongue.

  That was when Gert saw the girl. And her boyfriend.

  The girl was in her early twenties. She was pretty and slight, wearing tight burgundy nylon pants and a long-sleeved football shirt. Her boyfriend, clad in a green college sweatshirt with white lettering on it, was smiling and needling her. “Easy…” he said, watching her pull a plastic chair off the truck. “I want you to know that I’m behind you one hundred percent.” The girl glared at him. “Don’t stop now,” he said. “Remember, you said you didn’t want my help. Wait—butterfingers! Butterfingers!” The chair teetered. “You’re doing great,” the guy said, laughing. Finally the girl put the chair down and went to swat him, half smiling, but he caught her wrists, and she struggled, laughing.