"Out with it. I don't want to spend all day having a staring contest with you."
"Good, because the kids and I have plans today. Mini golf and bowling over at the fun center. You should come. You never know, you might meet someone. Any woman who enjoys mini golf is a keeper in my book."
Shaking my head at her poor attempt at a joke, I lean across the counter and look her dead in the eyes, wishing the look would scare her a little. Just enough for her to give up on finding me someone. It doesn't. She knows me too well.
"Look, Hope. I appreciate everything you're trying to do for me, but I can't stress enough that I'm not ready yet. When I am, I'll let you know. You'll be the first person I call. I'll even let you fix me up with someone nice if you want. Until then, can you please stop pushing me? It's not making things any easier."
"You know, I asked Maggie for her advice. Let's just see what she has to say on Wednesday and go from there. Deal?"
Ah! Maggie. The one person my sister feels can solve all problems related to love. She's been a follower of her column since she discovered it right before she met her husband. In fact, if you ask her, Maggie is the reason she met and married Tim. She's the reason they have two children. She's the expert and knows what's best for everyone who needs help with love.
What do I think?
I think Maggie is the reason my sister is meddling in my love life. She's the reason Hope isn't giving up on me. She's the reason I want to strangle my sister every Saturday morning when she bursts through my bedroom door, waking me up.
What the hell do I know, though?
After all, I'm the one who was left for a man twice his age. A man who was a trusted friend, mentor, and colleague. A man who took me under his wing when I graduated college, taught me everything I know, and hired me to be his partner after only two years. He was more than just my boss. If I had known that going into business with him meant sharing more than profits and responsibilities, I would have said no.
But I didn't, and now I'm stuck working with him on a daily basis until I can buy him out. I'm forced to deal with him and act professionally while the image of my former fiancée riding him plays in my mind. At least she doesn't come around the office. That was one condition I put my foot down on.
"If it means you'll leave me alone for the remainder of the weekend, I'll agree to see what Maggie has to say. I'll even wait to read her column until you come over," I say, feigning excitement.
"As if you would have read it without me," she replies, rolling her eyes at me. "I'll be here right after work. Promise me you won't find a reason to work late that night."
"I promise," I reply, crossing my fingers behind my back. I never work late anymore, but she doesn't know that.
"I've heard that before," she scoffs, standing and moving around the island. "I have to get the kids before they start blowing up my phone. I'll see you on Wednesday night."
Pulling me in for a hug, she whispers in my ear that she loves me. Smiling, I reply the only way I can these days. "I know. Me, too."
I haven't used the L word since her. It hasn't slipped past my lips even once. As far as I'm concerned, I'll never utter that word again if I can help it. It's not worth it. All it does is hurt people. Nothing good can come from allowing yourself to feel that way for another person. Once you let yourself, they have the power to destroy you.
"By the way," Hope says as she's about to exit the kitchen, "You look like shit. Lay off the liquor, little brother. It's not helping."
She's gone before I can defend myself, not that it would have done any good. Today is not the first time she's shown up and I've been hung over. In fact, more times than not, I'm hung over. After being around Ron all week, Friday nights I let loose a little. I never drive drunk. I never get out of control. The old me would have taken a different girl home every night, but even that's off my radar.
I sit at the bar around the corner from the office. Have a few beers. Once I'm feeling relaxed, I switch to sipping Scotch. When I hit my limit, I call myself a cab and head back for my car in the morning. I'm responsible. I barely talk to anyone other than the bartender to order another drink.
Friday nights are a reward for me, a celebration. I made it through another week and now I have the weekend to myself. I don't have to see him or think about them for two whole days. Except when my sister shows up and they're all I can think about because my shitty situation is their fault.
I was good to Kristen. She was good for me. In the end, she left me for a bank account twice the size of mine. Hope called her a gold-digging whore once, and I couldn't agree more. I only wish I had seen the signs sooner and saved myself the heartache because I did love her.
In some ways, I still do.
Dear Maggie,
* * *
I'm writing in for my brother. His gold-digging ex decided to leave him at the altar for his boss. I'd like to find him a nice girl who cares about him more than his bank account balance. Any suggestions on where to find her?
* * *
Sincerely,
Hope-ful Romantic
Hope-ful,
* * *
I'm sorry to hear about your brother. It sounds like she wasn't worth it, and he's probably better off without her in his life. As far as where to look for a nice girl, have him try those dating sites that pair him up with someone who has the same interests and goals as he does. Maybe someone who makes her own money? It's worth a shot.
* * *
~Maggie
3
Lauren
That wasn't so hard. Thanks to Abby's idea, I was able to give my first round of advice with confidence. Now, if they take my advice and it fails... that's another story. Let's hope Hope-ful’s brother has better luck with the online dating scene than I've had.
In the five days since I've filled out the application, I've had a dozen guys show interest in meeting me. Some were too old. Being only twenty-three years old, I won't date anyone more than six years older than me. Others seemed sketchy. The last few… I'm not sure how we even were matched.
The site itself isn't bad. I have the option to look at someone’s profile before responding to his message. If I'm not interested in meeting him, I can ignore him. He can't message me again unless I respond. If I want to get to know someone better, like the first guy who sent me a message, I have the option to learn even more about him.
My only concern at this point is if someone’s lying on his application. When I set up my profile, I didn't have to verify any information. In fact, I was rushing through it so fast I spelled my last name wrong, and I didn't notice until my profile was set up. I still haven't figured out how to change it. Right now, I'm Lauren Morton instead of Lauren Norton.
Abby laughed when I told her. Of course, she did. Since I'm not actually trying to find love, I think I'll leave it. No one knows me anyway. It's not that big of a deal, and if they find out my name is wrong, I can easily explain why.
"So you have three names right now, then?" Abby pointed out.
"Three?"
"Yeah. You're Lauren times two and Maggie Tuttle to boot."
Oh, yeah. Leave it to Abby to point out I'm pretending to be someone I'm not. I was still riding a high from my article today I almost forgot that "Maggie" is the one that wrote the article. Not me. Nope. According to the newspaper, Maggie is home from her refreshing beach vacation and back to handing out advice to those in need.
"I guess you're right. Today's column was okay, right? I sounded confident, enough like Maggie that no one will question it?"
Being my helping hand, I made Abby read a few of Maggie's columns. I also made her sign up for a subscription of the Dear Maggie column. A reminder hits her inbox as soon as the column goes live online.
"It was good. Until the end. Read your last line, Lauren. You were great up until then. You lost your confidence with that last line."
It's worth a shot.
"I could have left that out, I guess."
"Next time.
This will get easier, I promise. How goes online dating? Anyone strike your interest?"
"I might pursue a few who seem nice. I have to go out with someone so I can conduct my research. I haven't checked my inbox today, but I'm really not in the mood. I've thought about nothing but love and relationships and the stupid column for the past three days. I want to relax tonight and celebrate the fact my first column wasn't the epic failure I thought it might turn out to be." Letting out a deep breath, I lean back against my couch and close my eyes.
The stress from the last few days was overwhelming. I've never been this concerned about my writing before. I've always been confident in my abilities. My professors in college told me that I had a way with words, that it was almost as if I was able to weave magic between the lines. They never made me write about love, or my feelings, or anything that I wasn't able to research or fact-check.
This is a completely different style of writing.
Sure, it's short and sweet. One paragraph. A few sentences.
A lot can go wrong in those few sentences. One missed word, one wrong phrase, and the jig is up. The pressure to make it great is insane. I feel like the success of the company is on me right now, and that’s not what I signed up for. Far from it.
"Well, relax tonight. Have a glass of wine. Unpack another box. Find your favorite heels. Tomorrow is a new day. You never know, you might get a message from a winner. Or at least someone interesting enough for you to agree to go on a date with them. For research, of course."
I can tell Abby is holding out hope that I'll find that special someone. If only that's what I wanted. My focus right now is on dating, research, more dating, getting to know the area, and more research.
Mr. Phelps calls me into his office the next morning before I can even put my purse down. He sounds angry with me, but I can't possibly imagine why. The column was a success. I read the comments last night, and they were all positive. People are rooting for this guy to find his special someone. They agree with my advice, Maggie's advice. I didn't mess this up. I couldn't have.
"You wanted to see me, sir," I say, peeking my head into his office.
"Have a seat, Norton," he replies sternly, "and close the door behind you."
"Have you seen the feedback on yesterday's column?" I ask cheerily, hoping to rub off some of my good mood on him this morning.
"I have. We deleted all the negative comments from the website. Did you see those?"
Negative comments?
"No, sir. I'm sorry, I haven't seen those." Sitting up straighter in my chair, I brace myself for a verbal lashing and pray he doesn't fire me.
"That's because there weren't any, Norton." A smile slowly spreads across his face. "You did great."
"I... I, okay."
"Look, there are always a few negative comments we need to delete the next morning. Late owls, drunk and trolling the Internet. Maggie and I use to laugh about them the next morning before we deleted them. You didn't receive any. I will admit, your column was a little unorthodox, but maybe that's what we need right now. A fresh perspective on the column. Maggie was obviously a little off the last few weeks."
If a fresh perspective is what he wants, he's going to get it. Not by choice, but by default. I'm far from being Maggie. This is a whole new experience for me. The readers will get to come along for the ride.
Jeff.
He's in marketing, whatever that means. His profile says he's twenty-seven years old, single, and loves dogs. If he looks anything like his picture, the date will be worth it. I'm a little confused, though.
A coffee shop.
I'm not sure if that's a sign this guy is cheap and can't afford a nice meal or if he just loves coffee. Either way, I'm here. Waiting for him to show up. He was supposed to be here five minutes ago, but really, who's watching the clock.
Me, that's who.
As far as first dates go, I'm not impressed.
Location, thumbs down.
Him being late, thumbs down.
Maybe I should just leave.
Gathering my things, I barely hear the bell above the door chime. Just as I'm about to look up, a pair of black dress shoes come into view.
"Lauren?" he asks.
"Yeah," I reply.
Slowly looking up, taking in his long legs, slacks and perfectly-pressed dress shirt as I do so, I finally find a set of light brown eyes. He's watching me closely, studying me. The way he's looking down at me makes me nervous, so I move to stand, tripping over my bag and falling into him in the process.
He wasn't prepared for that. My body slams into him, knocking us both to the floor. It all happens in slow motion. His knees give out, surprised by the force of my body as I lurch forward. His arms flail, looking for something to grab to keep him from falling. There’s nothing in reach and as we’re about to hit the ground, I realize that I’m going to crush him in a very private place so I move my hands to protect him from my chest.
My face lands just above his belt, my hands tucked underneath me, covering his crotch from any permanent damage.
"I'm so sorry," I say as I go to stand, reaching back for the table to help me off of him.
Mistake number 2.
The table isn't bolted down. It's can't withstand the weight I put on it. It topples toward me, and I'm not quick enough to stop it. When I see my coffee sliding toward me, I reach out to grab it, but someone snags it before it can drench me in its sticky sweetness.
They don't bother to catch the table. It lands on the top of my thigh, and all I can do is cringe. It's not heavy but it fell hard and fast. That's going to leave a mark for sure.
And this whole ordeal... it's going to leave an impression on everyone who's watching the show. I can feel the eyes on me now. The buzz of the coffee shop has been silenced; the only sound is the music softly playing from above.
Sliding his legs out from under me, Jeff pulls the table off of me and helps me up. The fact he hasn't run away yet is amazing. Dating has always been a challenge, but this is ridiculous. It's been a while, and I'm apparently out of practice. This can't just be nerves.
"Are you okay?" he asks, helping me back to my chair.
"Yeah. Thank you," I reply, avoiding eye contact.
"No problem. I'm going to grab a coffee. Would you like something?" he asks.
My coffee. Where did it go? Who saved me from smelling like caramel?
"I—"
"Here ya go," a soft voice says from next to me. Looking to my right is a young brunette, maybe twenty, holding my coffee.
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
"I guess I'll be back in a minute, then," Jeff says, interrupting our conversation.
Strike three. First, he brings me here for our date. Then, he shows up late, and now, he’s going to be rude to a complete stranger who was only trying to help. This isn’t looking good for him, but it is looking good for my research.
"Okay," I reply when he doesn't walk away immediately.
"First date?" she asks as soon as he's out of earshot.
"That obvious?"
"A little."
"Well, let's hope it goes better from here. That wasn't exactly how I planned things to go," I say, taking a sip of my coffee. "Thanks again, by the way."
"Spilling coffee is a sin," she jokes. "I would hope someone would do the same for me. Good luck."
Jeff returns as our friendly neighbor packs up her things and heads out. He takes the seat next to me instead of across from me, startling me at first. We're not face to face. I can't see his eyes. The eyes are the window to the soul. They tell you if someone is lying.
Turning toward him so I don't make it obvious I'm uncomfortable, I smile and take a sip of my coffee. How do you start a conversation with a complete stranger?
"Well, that was a way to make a first impression, I guess," I stutter nervously as I push a stray hair out of my face.
"You could always tell your friends you fell head over heels for me," he jokes, nudging me lightl
y.
Oh, God. Why is he touching me? We barely know each other. He shouldn't be touching me without asking first. I guess I started it when I hand my hands on his crotch, but still. That wasn't on purpose.
"I guess I could," I laugh, forcing myself to smile at his joke.
"Thanks for meeting me. When I didn't hear back from you for a few days, I figured you weren't interested. What made you change your mind?"
Does he want me to feed his ego? Is that's what's happening here? Not going to happen, bud. I'm sure he knows he's attractive. He's perfectly manicured. Even if he just came from the office, his outfit screams he's aware of his outward appearance. His sleeves are rolled up, the top two buttons of his Oxford shirt are popped.
No chest hair is sticking out, so either he has none or he shaves it. I wouldn't be surprised if he waxed it to be honest. Yes, he's pretty, but I also get the impression he's a man whore. I've met a few before, and Jeff reminds me of them.
"So, you work in marketing?" I ask, avoiding his question. Lame. I'm so out of practice.
"Yeah. What do you do?"
"I'm a journalist for the Daily News."
"Really? That sounds like it could be fun," he replies, scooting his chair a little closer.
"It can be sometimes," I say, leaning away.
"Why don't we get out of here and go grab some food. My treat."
"But we just got here. I thought this was where we were going to hang out."
"Well, yeah. I figured we'd meet here and then decide where we wanted to go. If you prefer, I can cook. I know my way around a kitchen. I'd love to cook you dinner."
On the first date? This guy thinks I'm going to go over to his house on the first date. He must be out of his damn mind. Or incredibly horny. My guess is both.
"I think I gave you the wrong impression somehow. I'm not interested in seeing what color your bedsheets are. I'm not interested in a glass of wine and a back massage. Not on the first date and maybe not ever. The point of this was to get to know each other, not jump in the sack. If that's what you're looking for, keep looking."
Dating Dilemma Page 2