Dating Dilemma

by Brownell, Rachael

  * * *

  ~Kat

  Kat,

  * * *

  I'd say he's definitely cheating on you. You're a smart girl. Don't even bother to ask him. I'd break it off and move on before you get hurt any more than you already are. He's not worth it.

  * * *

  ~Maggie

  17

  Kyle

  My phone starts ringing just as I step into the shower. It's probably Hope calling to tell me to get out of bed. She hasn't shown up yet, and it's not like her to be late. It's almost as if we have a standing appointment on Saturdays. I look forward to them these days. She's been a great help trying to figure out things with Lauren.

  Not that things are even close to making sense or being figured out.

  Especially not since I received a call from her friend Abby.

  That was awkward.

  If she didn't remind me of Hope before, she certainly does now. There's no doubt in my mind we each have someone in our corner that cares about us. Sometimes, more than we care about ourselves.

  Abby decided to air all of Lauren's dirty laundry to me. I didn't need to hear it, and it didn't help me make sense of anything. Besides learning that relationships tend to scare her, the rest of the information was useless. I saw how she reacted at breakfast. I'm the one who came on too strong. I'm the one who will fix this when I feel the time is right.

  I just need to figure out how to do that. The ideas Hope has suggested are ridiculous. The ideas I've come up with fall short and might make the situation worse.

  We each decided to start a list last weekend and compare notes today. My list is small, and all my ideas suck.

  1. Bring her flowers to work and apologize.

  That's not giving her the space she asked for. That's being too confrontational and stepping over the imaginary line in the sand that separates her personal and professional life.

  2. Text her and ask her out to dinner.

  Too impersonal and this gives her the option to ignore me.

  3. Call her and ask her out to dinner.

  More personal, but she could still ignore me.

  4. Invite her over to go out on my boat.

  Pushy. Asking her to come over here is pushy. I don't want her to think that I'm trying to get her in my bed. She doesn't know that no one aside from my family has ever been in my house. It's my sanctuary. I want her here, to be a part of it, but being alone... she probably wouldn't go for that.

  I'm hoping that Hope has better ideas. It's been two weeks. We haven't talked, and until the other day, I hadn't seen her. She still hasn't seen me, and that makes me feel like a creepy old man. It's was pure coincidence that I was in the park getting lunch and so was she. I almost walked over to her and said hi, but by the time I got the nerve, she was leaving.

  I regret it now. That could have been my shot to win her back.

  As I turn the water off, I hear Hope's voice echoing through the open bathroom door.

  "No, I swear. Please don't hang up," she pleads. "His sister. My name is Hope."

  Who is she talking to? Why would she need to explain who she is?

  Wrapping a towel around my waist, I follow Hope's voice and find her in the kitchen. Clearing my throat, she turns toward me with tears in her eyes.

  "I think I made it worse."

  "Made what worse?"

  "That was Lauren."

  "Why the hell did you answer my phone?" I ask, snatching it out of her hand once I put all the pieces together.

  "You were in the shower, and I saw it was her, and I just wanted to talk to her," Hope mumbles.

  "What did she say?"

  "She told me to tell you to fuck off."

  "Which means she thinks I've moved on. Great! Just fucking great!" I scream, my hands clenching into fists.

  When I found out about Kristen and Ron, I was numb. Anger didn't hit me until a few weeks later. That's when I realized I wasn't in love with her. He could have her. If that's the kind of woman he wanted to be with, I was happy things ended when they did.

  As anger surges through my veins, I realize how much I care about Lauren. She's the kind of girl I want to be with. I barely know her, but I'm falling in love with her. She barely knows me, but she likes me, or at least she did until Hope answered my phone. She probably never wants to see me again now.

  "Okay, time to make a plan," I say, pointing to my list. I left it on the counter for Hope. "I'm going to change, and then we're going to fix this. Today. If she called me, that means she's taken the time she needed."

  Hope's eye light up like they used to on Christmas morning. She's been waiting for this moment as long as I have. This is her thing as much as it's mine. She's always been a fixer, and I've just given her permission to help me fix my life.

  Green light—go!

  We spend the afternoon crafting the perfect plan. Then we rip is apart, strip it down to the bare essentials, and start over. By the time night falls, I feel at peace with what's left. I can make this work. As long as Lauren doesn't slam the door in my face.

  Step One: Buy flowers.

  Step Two: Have them delivered to her office on Tuesday morning with a note inviting her to dinner at the Tavern, where it all started.

  Step Three: Rent out a private room for the two of us. Talking at breakfast, with other people around, made her nervous. I want her to feel comfortable.

  Step Four: Pray she shows up on Tuesday night.

  If she does, I explain first that it really was Hope who answered my phone. That can't wait. I can't have her thinking I've moved on or that I'm whoring around. If she hears me out, the ball is in her court. I want to hear how she's been, if she worked out everything she needed to, and the decision she came to. I can't force her to want to be with me, and I won't "proposition" her again, but I'm not going down without a fight either.

  If she doesn't show up, I've given Hope permission to seek her out and talk to her. I know she'll have my best interests at heart, but this still makes me nervous. I've told Lauren most of the situation with Kristen, but not all of it. She needs to know all the dirty details. It'll help her understand why I signed up for the dating website to begin with. And, I'm hoping if she meets Hope, she'll see how much she reminds her of Abby and trust her like she trusts Abby.

  If all goes as planned, we'll be starting over from square one. As much as I'd love to pick up where we left off, ravage her in my bed after dinner, I know that's not possible. She may have taken the time she needed, but that doesn't mean she's ready for a serious, committed relationship.

  I guess I'll find out in three days.

  18

  Lauren

  "Are you sure it wasn't his sister?" Abby asks.

  We've talked in circles about this for the past two days. I'm done talking about it. Why would his sister answer his phone? No one does that. The last time another woman answered when I called a guy, it was his girlfriend. The girlfriend I didn't know he had until I called. Months after we started dating, weeks after we started sleeping together.

  Granted I was calling to tell him I was done, but still. He had a girlfriend the entire time.

  Did he tell me this? No. She did. When she asked who I was and why I was calling, I told her everything, aware that she was going to get hurt but unsympathetic for his situation at the time. She needed to know. She deserved to know the kind of person she was dating. A man who would sleep with someone else, for weeks, and never tell her. How many other people was he sleeping with? I might not have been the only one.

  "No, but it doesn't really matter, does it? He hasn't tried to call me back, and even if he did, I'm not sure this is worth the fight anymore. I'm over it."

  Lies. All lies. Abby knows it, too. I've been flip-flopping for days about what to do. Call him back, give him a chance to explain. Ignore him and move on with my life. I can't seem to make a decision, and every time I think I'm close, I change my mind.

  It sucks.

  I hate feeling like this.

>   I'm not in control of my emotions, thoughts, or feelings right now. Kyle is. My heart is. My desires are.

  "Oh, it's worth it. I promise," she taunts. "From what you told me, he's worth more than a second chance."

  "I never should have shared details with you. I knew I would regret it later on."

  "Whatever. You share everything with me. You would be lost without my expert guidance."

  Laughing, I don't bother to disagree with her. She has a point. I would be lost without her, even if I feel like she sticks her nose where it doesn't belong more often than not.

  "Want me to call him?" she asks, her voice taking on her motherly tone. Soft and caring. Sincere.

  "No. That's probably the last thing I want you to do."

  "The offer doesn't expire if you change your mind."

  Well, that's good to know. You know, in case I ever do lose my mind and decide to let her take control of my love life.

  Saying goodnight, I crawl in bed, an empty feeling consuming me the same way it has the last few weeks. I think back on all the good times Kyle and I shared. Closing my eyes, I picture him falling in the fountain again. I remember what he was wearing the first time we met and how he caught me staring at him.

  Finally, I think about the look on his face just before I left him in the restaurant. It's the last image I have of him. Someday, maybe we'll see each other again and I can replace the look of confusion and sorrow on his face.

  "What do you mean she's back?" I ask Mr. Phelps.

  "She's going to be coming to the office today and wants to talk to you," he replies without looking up. He's furiously looking for something on his desk. It's a disaster this morning. Stacks of paper litter every available surface.

  Looking down at my feet, I spot two pieces of paper that have fallen and slipped under the corner of his desk. I pick them up and set them on the stack closest to me, clearing my throat so he's aware of what I've just done. Reaching for the papers, he picks them up, scans them and takes a seat at his computer.

  "So when should I expect her?"

  "I'm not sure. Probably later. She hasn't announced she's back yet and wants to avoid as many people as possible. Plan on staying late tonight."

  "No problem," I reply. It's not like I have any plans tonight. Or any other night this week.

  Heading down to the park for lunch, the same thing I've done every day for the past week, I find myself lost in thought. What will Maggie be like? Why does she want to talk to me? Is she ready to take back her column? That would be one less worry on my shoulders.

  Mr. Phelps asked me to finish tomorrow's column. He's not sure what her plans are at this point. All he knows is that she's back in town and coming to the office this afternoon. She wants a private meeting with me. He didn't sound concerned about her return; he also didn't sound excited.

  All eyes are on me when the elevator doors slide open. There's a small group of people standing at the front desk, admiring a beautiful display of flowers. They stare at me as if I've grown a second head, so I slip out of the elevator and head toward Maggie's office.

  It’s easy to understand why no one talks to me. They have no idea who I am or why I took over Maggie's office. Mr. Phelps’s lame excuse as to why I was in her office didn't explain much, and I didn't elaborate to the one person who asked. I've kept to myself, and I prefer it that way. I'm only here for a year. My career is my focus. Once I'm able to start contributing with stories I enjoy writing, maybe I'll take an interest in making friends. Until then, I'm in a solitary bubble.

  "Lauren," a female voice calls. Joyce, the receptionist from the front desk is standing outside my door, smiling at me. "Those flowers came for you while you were out to lunch," she explains.

  "Oh. I'll come up and grab them in a minute. Thank you," I reply, tossing my purse and jacket on the chair in the corner.

  "Would you like us to bring them back?"

  "If you have time, that would be great." Us?

  Nodding, Joyce disappears only to return a few minutes later with a vase of flowers in each hand. Behind her are a man and a woman, each carrying two vases of flowers.

  "Um, where to do want them?" she asks.

  "Are those all for me?" I ask, ignoring her question.

  "That's what the delivery man said. There's one more vase up front. I'll bring it back in a minute."

  I motion for them to leave the vases on a table near the door. Once they're gone, I close the door and search for a note. There's only one person who would send me flowers. Why he sent me seven different kinds is beyond me. That's a bit excessive. A single flower is impressive in my book.

  Once I locate the note, I take it back to the desk with me and open it frantically.

  Lauren,

  I wasn't sure what your favorite flower was, so I bought you an array. One for every day of the week. One for each day I think about you. The red ones remind me of the first date we went on. You were wearing a red blouse that dipped low in the front. I caught you checking me out, but I didn't say anything right away. I was checking you out, too.

  The purple and pink ones remind me of the colors in the fountain that night. That was my favorite date. Even if I did end up drenched. You were so open and honest with me. You were real. I didn't know it at the time, but you were exactly what I need in my life.

  You're exactly what I still need in my life.

  Meet me for dinner? At the Tavern like that first night. Six o'clock.

  ~Kyle

  How can a girl say no to that?

  First I have a column to write, and I suddenly feel inspired.

  Dear Maggie,

  * * *

  My boyfriend and I have been living together for almost a year. I'm constantly cleaning up after him, and I'm losing patience. What do I do? I don't feel like talking to him is going to work. I've been dropping hints and making comments for months now. HELP!

  * * *

  ~Ashley

  Ashley,

  * * *

  Talking to him will turn into fighting, but if you don't do it, things will never change. Decide what you want to say, write it down if you need to, and keep a level head when you bring it up. Keep in mind, your idea of clean and his are probably very different. Things like spills on the counter and dirty socks in the corner might bother you but don't faze him. Find out what his idea of clean is and share yours. Be direct. Tell him what you need him to work on and be prepared for him to tell you things that he wants you to work on. It has to be a give and take. The best thing you can do is work through it. If you don't, you'll end up resenting him for being messy and your relationship will suffer.

  * * *

  ~Maggie

  19

  Lauren

  My eyes keep drifting to the clock over her head. She didn't show up until ten minutes after five o'clock. I was about to leave, forgetting that she was even coming, when Mr. Phelps stopped me and said she was running late. I figured this would be a short meeting. How much could she really want to talk about? She barely knows me.

  That's exactly the problem.

  She has no idea who I am. She wants to know the woman who's been writing her column.

  Where am I from?

  Which college did I attend?

  What was my major?

  Previous experience?

  Family dynamic?

  The one thing she doesn't ask me about is my love life. No questions about anything relationship related at all. No inquiries of boyfriends, past or present.

  Maybe she's trying to be professional. Maybe she's not sure if I'm straight or gay. Either way, I don't offer any information on the subject. I stick to answering her questions and nothing more.

  Talking as quickly as I can without sounding rushed, I tell her a little about me and what I've been doing with the column. She listens intently, asks questions, and by the time I'm done, I only have fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to meet Kyle.

  "So would you like to continue being the voice behind Dear Maggi
e?" she finally asks.

  "Not really," I confess, standing and grabbing my purse. It's my subtle way of trying to end this meeting.

  "Really? You've done a wonderful job. You obviously have some experience under your belt. I realize you're not married, but you obviously have someone special in your life."

  "Actually," I start, pulling my phone out to text Kyle, "I don't. My personal life is a hot mess. Right now, especially. In fact, I'm supposed to meet a guy for dinner in ten minutes, and if I don't leave now, I'm going to be late."

  "He'll wait for you if he's worth it," she retorts quickly, patting the seat next to her on the couch.

  "Not to be rude, but I'm not one of your readers. I didn't ask for your advice. If I did need some, I have a best friend who has an opinion on everything. Thank you, and it's been nice meeting you, but I really do need to go."

  "Have a seat, Lauren," Mr. Phelps says from behind me.

  Looking over my shoulder, I see the anger in his eyes. He must have heard what I said to Maggie. I'm not sorry about it. I'm sure I sounded like a bitch, but she obviously doesn't care about anyone but herself. If she did, she wouldn't have run off and abandoned her job, leaving others to pick up the pieces and cover for her. Mainly me.

  Sitting back down in my chair, I drop my purse on the floor and let out a huff. I'm done with this conversation. There's nothing left to talk about in my mind. I'm not interested in writing the Dear Maggie column anymore. I'm not passionate about it, and I promised myself a long time ago that I would only write what I was passionate about.