by Caitie Quinn
Plus, polite had gone out the window when she'd watched my assault as if it were the latest Housewives show.
"Sarah?"
"Yes?" I glanced down from where I was measuring the lights on the ceiling.
"John told me I have to tell you I'm sorry for not helping you out or getting him or calling the cops or something the other day."
As apologies went, that one was pretty much a failure.
"Are you?" I shouldn't have asked. I should have just said okay and went back to work.
Abby looked at her feet, one finger twirling a pink-tipped lock.
"I'm sorry if you got hurt."
Well, that was a little better. The girl was painfully honest. Not to mention tactless and unkind. The exact opposite of John. How long could this mentorship last? And did her honesty extend to her own actions? I could only hope so. Because if she wasn't, John's soft heartedness could come back and really bite him in the rear.
"So, what are you doing with the lights?"
I was about to say, changing them, before I looked down and saw she was actually paying attention.
"I bought lighting fixtures that will allow him to showcase the art better. He had the wrong fixtures and the wrong bulbs. The wattage was way off. A large part of what sells art is how it's displayed."
"Because people are so superficial." She stated it. It wasn't a question.
I took in a deep breath and prayed for patience. Abby had been rubbing me wrong since the beginning and I couldn't figure out if it was that or the surety of her attitude that annoyed me.
"No. Because art that isn't lit well, doesn't show well. It would be like picking out music on an old cell phone. You wouldn't know what it really sounds like. Here," I motioned at the wall. "People don't know what the art really looks like. The lighting will help them see it. It will also look more professional without creating a spot-like focus or an overly bright area and ruin the feel of the room."
I took one of the paintings off the wall to see how they were hung, checked the fixtures, and climbed back down.
"But first, I need to lower all the paintings. They're hung too high. It's like dating a guy you always have to look waaayyyy up at. You get a crick in your neck no matter how hot he is."
I could have sworn she almost smiled.
"If you want to help, you can take the paintings down and lean them against the wall. I'll start moving the set-ups."
I tried not to show my surprise when she did.
With Abby's help, I moved all the paintings, switched out the four lights, and hung the new matte cream placards I'd made next to each piece.
We were already cleaning up when John came out of the backroom, mid-sentence through his next thing for Abby. "What are you guys doing?"
"Merry Christmas!" I was so excited I jumped off the last two rungs of the ladder and rushed over to pull him forward. "I relit your wall. You now have a museum quality wall with placards. Check it out." I pointed to the fresh new descriptions hanging beside each painting.
"Wow." He stared—just stared at the wall.
It dawned on me he may not have liked someone coming in and changing his shop around, even if they were paid a lot to do it professionally.
"Um, it's okay, right? That I changed it?"
"I helped." Abby stood next to the ladder with a weird expression, halfway between hopeful and defiant, bringing her lips together in what looked like it was trying to be a grin.
She hadn't waited. She'd stepped up to take the heat with me, or the thank you, but she hadn't left me out there on my own.
That apology—the really lame one she'd given me twenty minutes before—I mentally accepted it right then.
"No. This is great. I just… I just didn't expect it." John walked past me to stand a few feet from the wall. "It really does make a difference, doesn't it?"
I stood back, enjoying my work.
"This is great. Thank you." He turned, looking down at me with that soft smile of his.
It must have been the light because I hadn't realized how dark his eyes were, or that he had a bunch of freckles over the bridge of his nose, or how tall he was. Okay, so I'd noticed he wasn't my type of tall, but I guess five-ten was taller than I gave it credit for. Poor five-ten.
Plus, my world was filled with hard-polished guys. They just typically felt… bigger, larger than life.
"Not a problem. You've been great about the mess of dates I've had here. I figured it was the least I could do. Maybe you'll get more artists coming in if they see how strong your wall looks now."
"This is, truly, the nicest gift."
"I really just wanted to do something nice for you… a thank you."
"Best thank you ever. But, Sarah, you don't have to thank me."
Awww…
"What are friends for? And cafes? If you can't have crazy first dates in a café, where can you have them?"
This was true.
But they were so much easier when you shared them with a friend.
TEN
DATING TRUTH #6: When you can't get any lower, there's always a smug girl with a boyfriend there to knock the emotional step out from under you.
"I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO meeting this guy of yours." Claire had barely let me get my coat off before she started.
"How about you ladies? I'm looking forward to meeting all your guys too." Deflect! Deflect!
All the girls shifted to look my way. I half hoped one of them would come to my rescue. But Claire was driving this boat and no one was going to get in the way. I'd already talked to Becca anyway. She'd called me Christmas Eve to wish me happy holidays
I was counting on Angie to have great news.
Or not.
"Yes," Claire drawled. "But you never talk about your mystery man."
"I'm… I don't know. You know when something feels too good to be true? It just comes out of nowhere and, Bam!—hits you over the head? I keep waiting to find out I was making it all up in my overactive imagination."
Claire mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'me too' before she was interrupted by the waiter.
"Why don't you guys tell me about your dates?" If I couldn't divert Claire, I could at least get the others chatting. Plus, I was actually interested in how things were going for Becca and Angie.
Becca launched into a description of the perfect holiday weekend. Airplane Guy had gone to visit her on the twenty-sixth and then flown the New York leg again. Everything was joy and happiness and mistletoe.
Angie was disappointed Jonathan wasn't able to spend Christmas with them, but she convinced her brother they weren't just sleeping together. That they were both serious. A call from Jonathan solidified that, and there was joy and happiness and unused mistletoe in the Brockman house.
Claire spent Christmas with her family and Marcus. I can only assume she found her version of joy and happiness shopping while he worked. I didn't want to know about the mistletoe.
As we wrapped up the meal, I handed Claire a check for the additional seat at our New Year's Eve table. Part of me hated to do it, but I knew if I waited till that night it would be even worse.
"Oh, honey. Why don't you keep your money until we see if you need the seat?"
"I need the seat." I said it as nicely as possible, pretending I didn't know what she was really saying. Also pretending that she wasn't right. "Plus, it's not like we can cancel a seat at this point anyway."
As soon as I said it, she got that look. That my-life-is-so-great-I-feel-bad-for-you look.
"Right. So, I'll see you on New Year's."
With Mr. Right. As soon as I found him.
ELEVEN
Love Again – I'm a widower who is looking to start the next part of my life. I know what a blessing a good relationship can be and want to share that knowledge and feeling with the right woman.
I WAS A LITTLE NERVOUS about Date Five. So many worries. Could I—if we got serious—deal with being with someone who had loved another woman that much?
But Date Five, otherwise known as Dave, sounded like a great guy. We'd been emailing since the first week and had moved to talking on the phone the second. He'd sent me a lovely little email while he'd been out of town for Christmas.
Now, December twenty-eighth, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever find anyone, let alone a date for New Year's Eve.
I swung into The Brew feeling as if I'd come home for the holidays myself. I hadn't seen John—or Abby for that matter—since I'd given John his Christmas gift. After the day trip down to see my mom at her condo with her current husband—number five—where I sat through a meal where she counted my calories for me—six-hundred-and-twenty—and played with her collection of cats—three—I basically counted the hours till I could head home again.
Needless to say, my mother wasn't the highlight of my season.
Three days later I was still trying to recover from hearing about everyone who was married, how my career was boring, and how size eight was the new size twelve so maybe I should drop some weight.
I considered dropping one hundred and forty pounds in the form of my mother.
But The Brew? It was peaceful and easy. It was a comfy escape where I could chill out and be myself. It was—
"You look like you gained five pounds in your face over Christmas. What exactly did you eat?" Abby stood behind the counter, eyeing me as if I was trying to slip something past her.
"I'm sorry. Mom, is that you?"
"Whatever." She turned around and started putting my tea tray together while I stripped my coat and mittens off and hung them over a chair by the fire.
Glancing around, I was surprised to take in three filled tables. This was exactly the holiday cheer John needed for his business.
"Where's John?"
"Do I look like his keeper?"
"Kind of. You definitely like to keep track of everyone's business."
"Fine. He's out back doing something on his computer."
Huh. Probably some Numbers Guy finance stuff to reboot his new year.
I paid for my tea and carried the tray to my regular chair. On the coffee table was a little sign that said Reserved at 3pm. How sweet.
I checked out the art wall and saw someone had added a sign-up sheet for the artist's mailing list. I wished I'd thought of that myself. There were even two names on it that weren't John, Sarah, or Abby, so huge win.
Five of three, I settled into my chair to wait. If I'd learned anything over the last four weeks, it was patience was key in the process. You waited to see if anyone contacted you. If you Whistled or Messaged first, you waited to hear back. You waited to hear back again once you returned their message. Then you waited more. Then you waited to see if they'd want to talk. Then you waited to see if they wanted to get together. Even if you were the person suggesting it, you waited for an answer. Then you waited for them to show up.
I'd probably waited twenty hours this month.
That was roughly the amount of time a new exhibit took me to set up.
Food for thought.
At five past, I started to wonder. No one but Married Guy Hank had been late, and Dave just didn't strike me as the rude or thoughtless type.
At ten past, John wandered out and perched on the arm of the chair next to me.
"So, Date Five. Your final Crayon."
Some things you never live down.
I glanced at my phone to check the time and saw my email alert. I knew it was bad news as soon as I saw Dave's email address.
Sarah,
I'm so sorry to back out on you at the last minute. I realized as I was about to leave I'm just not ready to start dating. I've really enjoyed our chats and I'm sure if I'd shown up I would have left hoping we could be friends. I know that wasn't the point. So, I'll wish you luck and know whoever snaps you up is a luckier man than I.
Best,
Dave
What does it say that one of the sweetest things a guy had said to me in years was a brush off letter?
"It can't be that bad?" John slid into the chair and started to lean in to look at the email before stopping himself. "No one's puppy died, right?"
"No. No puppy. Just my hope for the future."
"Your guy died?" Now he leaned in and snatched the phone. "Who even knew to email you?"
"He didn't die." I fought an eye roll and then gave in. He deserved it. "He canceled."
John read the email and grimaced. "I need a copy of this. If I ever dump a girl without actually going out with her, this is perfect."
"Are you saying I'm not great?"
"Um. No. Of course not. You're awesome. Really awesome."
"Yeah. Uh-huh."
"Don't let the Dates bring you down." I thought he was going to wave a fist in the air.
"Maybe I should try one last time. Or just ask Jane to set me up with someone for the night. Just be straight with the guy and admit I need a boyfriend for the night. But it feels horrible and stupid to have a fake date." I sighed as I reread Dave's email. "I'd feel like such a loser."
John handed me my phone and leaned back, settling in for what was probably going to be a long lecture.
"Do you really need a guy to enjoy your night? Does it matter that much? We just established you're awesome."
"I am totally awesome."
"So, why do you need a guy for this? What do you really need to prove to those girls?"
"Well, I'd been telling them I was seeing someone since November. I've kind of painted myself into a corner."
John watched me, that yeah-so-what look on his face.
"I know. It's my own fault." I said before he could agree with me. "I was being prideful and look where it got me. But I panicked. You don't know what it's like."
My voice had risen, causing people on the other side of the room to look our way.
"What what's like?"
"To be her. That girl. The last single girl. Your close friends are paired off. Your not so close friends are paired off. Your acquaintances are paired off. The people you know casually who you don't even like are paired off. And everyone just looks at you like… Like you're a failure and a loser. Mothers lecture. Aunts lecture. Women you barely know say things like Bless your heart or There's someone out there for everyone, even you. Seriously? I can't be her. I can't be the last single girl."
"Sarah, after hearing about these girls, I can tell you one sounds nice, one seems okay, and one sounds like a man's worst nightmare. Now, next to a really awesome person, none of those girls look very good."
I smiled, trying not to cry at his kind words or my sick feeling of defeat. I wrapped my hand around his where it rested on the chair's arm. "John, you're seriously one of the best people I know. Now, I'm going home to panic." I gave his hand a squeeze and stood. "Thanks for everything."
"You're going to stop by on your way, right? Abby and I want to see you all dressed up." He rose and walked me out. "Maybe get some pictures. Just like prom, only with twenties garb and drinking."
"And no date."
John just shook his head at me. "You're a mess. A really nice mess, but still."
I headed out, slightly relieved for the dating part to be over. I was done with the crazies. The only one allowed to drive me nuts was my own subconscious. She was doing a good enough job for everyone.
TWELVE
DATING TRUTH #7: Wine. Lots of Wine.
"WE'RE BACK HERE!"
I made my way back to the creamy yellow kitchen where Jane stirred away at something on the stove while Dahlia played on a bright matt near the glass door.
"It's just us tonight. Matt went to watch the game with his guys."
"You mean you threw him out so we could have girl's night in."
"Yes. That's what marriage is all about. Knowing when to throw your spouse out and the spouse knowing to leave."
I'm pretty sure she was kidding.
"Here." She handed me a
bottle of white wine. "Open that puppy up. It's perfect for the salmon. And while you do, I want a rundown of the online dating mission."
"Don't you want to know about my holidays? Or tell me about whatever run-in you had with your mother-in-law? Or about what people bought Dahlia for Christmas?"
"Nope. None of the above. Online dating for two-thousand, Alec."
I'd known it was going to come down to that, but I thought we'd ease into it. At least let me drink a little wine first.
But once Jane got an idea in her head, there was no getting it out, so over a glass of wine—okay, two—I gave her a summary of each date. In retrospect, they were funny. From the near perfect to the near homicidal, I'd had quite a run.
"Tell me more about this John guy."
"John? What about him?"
"I don't know. How old is he? How tall is he? Does he have all his hair?"
"Wow, Jane. Superficial much?" I loved her like a sister, but the getting-on-John-about-his-looks thing wasn't cool.
"No. Not superficial. But it's the only thing I don't know about him and I feel like I must be missing something."
"What do you mean?"
She looked at me like I might be a moron, then shook her head as if she'd finally decided I was.
"All night it's been John this and John that. John makes me this tea. John threw the guy out. John loved my Christmas present… which by the way, where the heck is my Christmas gift? This John guy got something and I didn't? And he sounds nice and funny and smart. He's successful and well off and gave up a high power career to do something he loves. He's close to his family and spoils his nephews and nieces? Am I forgetting anything?"
Well, no. And when she put it like that, he sounded pretty darn great.
"Right," Jane went on. "So, he must be old or fat or ugly or smelly or short or something really unattractive. What's wrong with him?"
"Well…" I racked my brain trying to give her an answer she'd accept. "He just got out of a relationship a few months ago."
"You told me about that. The stupid ex-girlfriend who was looking to be part of a power couple." Jane waved her hand as if I'd brought up something insignificant. "What else could it be? You're just not attracted to him?"