by Erin Duffy
“I don’t want a guy to think that on the first date. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
“I wear red lipstick every day and I’m not trying at all,” Lissy reminded me.
“Yes, but I’m not you. You’ve got a whole vibe working. My vibe is stay-at-home mom.”
“Okay, fine. Don’t wear it, but I’m telling you, you’d look great with it.”
“I’m so nervous I want to throw up. Maybe I should cancel. It hasn’t been long enough. I mean, is it slutty for me to do this? Shouldn’t I wait a little longer? Aren’t I supposed to still be in marriage mourning?”
“Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is,” Antonia suggested.
“You’re right. I know you’re right. It just feels like a really big deal.”
“That’s normal. But, it’s not,” Lissy said. “It’s dinner. It’s the opposite of a big deal.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. I need to do this. I need to grab hold of the small moments in my life that I can control. I need to change what I can change. Owen might be able to dictate where I live, but he can’t tell me who to date, and he can’t tell me where to have dinner, and those are two things that I’m deciding for myself and that feels good. I still have some say in what happens to me. I’m going to focus on those things for a while.”
“Small things can make a big difference,” Antonia said.
“Agreed,” added Lissy. “I feel that way about my fifth ear piercing. It was totally life changing.”
“Okay then,” I said. “What’s the plan for tonight?”
“We’re babysitting and having a glass or three of wine,” Antonia said. “How come I moved here to help take care of you, and now you’re going out on a date and I’m stuck in the house on a Saturday night babysitting your kid for free?”
“Because I’m a master manipulator,” I said. I’d never be able to repay Antonia for what she’d done for me, but I’d spend my whole life trying.
“Seriously! Joke’s on me, I guess. At least Lissy is going to hang out with me for a little. Maybe we can rent a movie or something.”
“How are you with horror films?” Lissy asked.
“I’m more rom-com than horror,” Antonia admitted.
“I was afraid you’d say that. Okay, fine. Romance it is,” Lissy agreed.
“I love you. I don’t know where I’d be without you. I really don’t,” I said as I hugged Antonia.
“Under your comforter, probably.”
“Definitely.”
“I’m happy you’re doing so much better.”
“I had a lot of help.”
“Nah. Plenty of people have help. You chose to get up and move forward. I think that’s admirable. I’m proud of you.”
“You’re the poster child for divorcées. You should start a blog. A lot of women would love hearing about your journey,” Lissy suggested.
“Sure. I’ll start a blog about dating even though I’m not even divorced yet and have a baby at home. I’ll call it Regrets Only because that basically sums up my life in Connecticut. I’m sure that’ll go over real well with the other moms on the playground.”
“Why aren’t you meeting him there?” Lissy asked.
I checked the time on my phone. “Because Fred thinks it’s 1952 and not 2016. Apparently he’s very old-fashioned. And late. Am I being stood up?”
“No. He’s just late,” Antonia answered. “Maybe he stopped to buy you a corsage? A nice pink carnation on an elastic band.”
“Don’t joke. I’m trying to not let the fact that he doesn’t text and wants to pick me up freak me out. Throwing the possibility of corsages at me might nudge me over the edge.”
“He has nice manners,” Lissy said. “Why is that a bad thing?”
“It’s just odd. That’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to be with someone who thinks that I need to be escorted around. I’m a modern woman. I might not be able to pay my own mortgage or live where I want to live at the moment, but I can drive my own car. I don’t like some other guy swooping in and trying to take away what little independence I have left.”
“He’s driving you to a restaurant. I really don’t think he’s trying to take away your independence,” Antonia said with a sigh.
“It’s a slippery slope. I’ve got my eye on him. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Stop finding problems where there aren’t any. He’s polite. You can work on getting him to text. Don’t obsess over stupid things,” Antonia pleaded. “If I did that I’d never date anyone. Believe me.”
The doorbell rang. He was fifteen minutes late. On the line of being rude, but not over it.
“Who’s obsessing? I’m just pointing out that even my mother knows how to text. That’s all.”
“Don’t stay out too late,” Antonia teased as she walked up the stairs, her bare feet sticking to the swollen, humid wood.
“Here,” Lissy said as she tucked her small lipstick in my hand. “Just in case you change your mind. Good luck.” She ran upstairs after Antonia and closed the door to her room.
“Thanks, you guys,” I said nervously.
I hopped out of the chair, ran my hand through my hair, and inhaled deeply. It’s just dinner, I reminded myself. Relax.
“Hi,” I said when I opened the door and found Fred standing squarely under my porch light. He wore a navy blazer and a pair of khaki pants for our date, and I liked it. He looked like he’d put some effort into his appearance and it had been a while since anyone made me feel like I was worth any effort at all. It was a nice feeling.
“You look very nice,” he said as he leaned over and gingerly kissed my cheek. I felt my body stiffen, but hoped he didn’t notice. The last thing I needed was to scare Fred away before we even got to the restaurant.
“Thank you, so do you,” I answered.
“I hope you like Italian. I made a reservation at this place about ten minutes from here. It’s one of my favorites.”
“I love Italian,” I said, feeling myself marginally relax. I didn’t want to go to dinner in town, where I’d have to worry about running into anyone who knew me in my previous life, when I was one half of Owen and Claire.
“Great. Let’s go,” he said. He stepped aside and escorted me down the two cracked porch stairs onto the path that led to the driveway. I was happy my black dress had sleeves. It was a bit cool outside, and I didn’t want to be in a situation where he had to offer me his jacket or something because I appeared cold. I wasn’t ready for gestures of intimacy like that. I was fine to have dinner with Fred, but I didn’t want to wear his clothes.
“I like the color of your car,” I said, eyeing the shiny gray Jeep in the driveway. “It’s like graphite. It reminds me of number two pencils.”
“Is that a good thing?” Fred asked. He smiled, a flash of orthodontically perfected teeth. They looked good on him.
“Yeah. It’s sleek.”
“Thanks. I was debating between this and a dark blue, but gray’s my favorite color. This one seemed more like me.”
Gray. Fantastic. Score one for Fred. I climbed into the front seat, and buckled my seat belt, knowing at the very least that I wouldn’t have to throw myself into oncoming traffic before we got to dinner.
The restaurant was busy with married couples most likely enjoying a date night out away from their kids. Hearty laughter peppered clanging silverware on bone white plates, and opera music played softly in the background. The waiters wore white shirts with red ties, the bartender dropped chunky ice cubes into glasses on the glossy bar. The room smelled of garlic and shellfish, and if I closed my eyes I could swear I was back in Chicago at Carlo’s, my favorite restaurant growing up, where I’d religiously order a huge plate of ravioli and drink Shirley Temples, and I finally, finally felt myself relax.
The mâitre d’ escorted us to a table in the center of the room, and Fred didn’t seem to mind. That was one of Owen’s biggest pet peeves: he always requested tables in the corner, wh
ere he wouldn’t be bothered by foot traffic and waiters carrying heavy trays laden with drinks and used dishes. He was very particular about where he was seated, and it used to drive me bananas. It was a relief to see Fred take his seat and not fight with the waiter over why we had to sit at this table and not at a different one. A delicate bud vase cradled a small white rose between two flickering votive candles. It was cozy without being overtly romantic, upscale without being fussy, crowded without being noisy. It was essentially perfect, and I was so amazingly relieved that Owen and I never came here together. I had zero negative associations with this place. There was just me, and Fred, and a large glass of red wine in my future, and that made this the best Saturday night I’d had in a very long time.
“I’m so happy we did this,” Fred said. He placed his napkin in his lap and reached for the wine list. “Would you like wine?”
“I am, too,” I said, and I meant it. “It’s nice to be out on a Saturday. I’d be lying if I said I did this all the time. Red would be great.”
The waiter appeared and took our drink order. I sipped my water and scanned the room, soaking up the dark burgundy walls and the platters of veal chops and pastas as they floated by, and I chided myself for building this up in my mind so much that I actually thought I needed to wear fake eyelashes before I was pretty enough to leave the house. I was wearing a dress—that was more than enough. I glanced at my phone and saw that it was 8:15. Bo had been asleep for over an hour, but I quickly considered calling Antonia to make sure that everything was okay. I decided against it. I didn’t want to be anyone’s mom tonight. I wanted to just be someone’s date.
“Cheers,” Fred said as he clinked my glass and I took a nice, long sip of a peppery wine that was warming and calming and hugged me the whole way down.
“Cheers,” I answered, taking another sip before setting it back down on the tablecloth next to the breadbasket. “So tell me about your job,” I said. Antonia told me that asking about work was how she usually started her first-date conversations, because it transferred the burden of talking onto the guy, and gave him the opportunity to talk about himself for a while so I could work out my nerves.
“I’m an accountant. Unfortunately it’s not that great of a conversation piece, but I enjoy it. I grew up in New Hampshire and I have two brothers. One of them is a ski instructor and one of them is in construction, which is kind of the family business. My father owned a construction company for many years. He’s retired now, so my brother runs it. They have much more interesting stories to tell when someone asks about their day.”
“Construction and a ski instructor, huh? And you’re an accountant?”
“I’m the geek,” he admitted.
“That must be very difficult for you,” I teased.
“I’ve spent a lot of money on therapy, but I’m doing much better with it now. Thank you for asking,” he joked. The banter came easily.
“So your two brothers sound all rugged and athletic. I imagine you must have some of that in you, too. Do you ski? I’m terrible at it, but I like it a lot.”
“Yeah. I grew up skiing and I totally love it. I try to go a few times every year with my family.”
“Sounds like your family is all into being outdoorsy?”
“I guess so. When we were kids our parents would take us into the woods and we would go camping and kayaking in the summer. We cut down our Christmas tree every year, too. And I can build a pretty mean fire. I can’t hunt deer, though.”
“Check, please!” I joked, surprised at how easily it was to flirt with him.
“Happens every time I tell someone that. I really need to start holding back on the really scandalous information until the second date. Is there anything I can say to make up for that?”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Maybe. How’s your s’mores game?” I asked. “If you’re going to have a house in the woods and a fireplace and a giant Christmas tree I hope there are s’mores involved. Otherwise the whole perfect family thing is ruined and I’m definitely leaving,” I teased.
“Are you kidding? People know me for my s’mores. I actually have a following on Instagram because of them.”
Fred was funny and smart and interesting and easy to talk to and I liked that about him. I liked that he was close to his family. I liked that he didn’t try to glamorize a job that was totally great, but not fascinating in the slightest. I liked that he wasn’t trying too hard to pretend to be someone he wasn’t, even though I did kind of wish that the someone he was knew what “LOL” meant. Still, Fred didn’t seem to be the type of guy to like artificial anything. I breathed a sigh of relief that I left the false eyelashes at home.
“That sounds like so much fun. I’m an only child and I have great memories growing up, but we never cut down our own Christmas tree.”
“It’s one of those things you do that you just assume everyone does. You don’t realize what a special memory that is to have until you’re older.”
“It’s funny, I think about stuff like that now that I have Bo. What will he remember, what will he enjoy, how will he look back on things when he’s a grown man, and how I can shape those memories for him now. I guess kids make you see the world differently. They also make you realize how much you took for granted growing up.”
“What’s the saying? ‘Youth is wasted on the young’?”
“Exactly. Whoever said that is totally right. Do you get to go back to New Hampshire a lot? It’s not that far a drive, right?”
“I go a lot in the winter. I have a little house in the woods up there, actually. I’m really busy in the spring, obviously, but in the fall and winter I try to get up there as much as I can. It’s always good to hang out with my brothers. We have a good time together. My older brother, Bruce, has two kids. I wish I got to see them more. My younger brother is the ski instructor and I don’t think he’s looking to get married anytime soon.”
“No sense in rushing, right?” I asked. Maybe I should’ve taken my own advice. I was in my mid-thirties when I got married, but we didn’t date very long at all. If anyone ever asked me for my advice at this point, that’s probably what I would say. Date for more than six months. Honeymoon periods were called honeymoon periods for a reason.
“Yeah. I’m hardly the expert on that so I usually just keep my mouth shut when the topic comes up.”
“That’s probably smart!” I said.
I realized that I was hungry. I hadn’t been out to eat at a nice Italian restaurant in what seemed like forever, and I suddenly felt like I hadn’t seen food in years. I wanted to be polite, but I was staring at the basket of bread like it was a basket of cash. I reached over and grabbed a roll, feeling the warm, crusty dough collapse under the pressure from my grip, and had to resist the urge to shove the entire thing in my mouth at once. I tore off a reasonably sized piece, and was thrilled to discover how good it tasted. Up until now, most things still tasted like cardboard—dry and coarse and impossible to swallow—but now the butter tasted sweet, and salty, and soft as flannel. I had an urge to lick my lips, but I resisted because I didn’t want Fred to think I was making the moves on him before we finished our salads.
A waiter carrying a huge platter of something sizzling whizzed by the table, oil popping and crackling on a deep silver tray, and I couldn’t help but track him as he delivered it to a round table tucked in the corner by the windows. I could smell rosemary, and citrus, and garlic, and I needed to find out what it was so that I could order it for myself. I hoped it wasn’t something for two. I wasn’t ready to wear Fred’s clothes, and I wasn’t ready to share Fred’s food yet, either, and if Oprah had a problem with that, then that was just too bad.
My heart stopped. I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. One minute I was listening to Fred tell me about his family and his ski house and his s’mores-making skills, and the next I couldn’t focus. I was suddenly having an out-of-body experience. My eyes froze on Dee Dee and Owen cuddling in a corner booth, one that he no doubt specifical
ly requested, with a bottle of wine perched in a perspiring bucket. I hadn’t seen them together since I saw them in my kitchen. Dee Dee wore a low-cut blouse, of course she did, and from my seat halfway across the room I could see the purple lace peeking out the top of her black silk shirt, and it all became too much for me to take. My stomach rumbled, and the buttered roll I just shoved down threatened to reappear. There he was. My shaggy-haired Owen, enjoying Saturday night with his steady girlfriend while I was on my first date with Fred. Dee Dee reached over and brushed the lock of hair out of Owen’s eyes, gently tucking it behind his ear, just like I used to do. I gagged.
“Are you okay?” Fred asked, as I sputtered and held the white napkin to my mouth in an effort to keep from drooling red wine all over my chin. I couldn’t answer him because I couldn’t focus on anything except that lock of hair that Dee Dee just lovingly pushed out of Owen’s face.
I hate that hair, I thought. I hate that hair so much I can’t even look at it anymore. I used to love it, and now I feel like it mocks me, and I can’t stand it one more second.
“Excuse me for one minute,” I said to Fred as I dropped the napkin and pushed back my chair from the table. I left quickly because I didn’t want him to ask me where I was going and I didn’t offer an explanation. I grabbed my purse from under my chair, and tossed it over my shoulder as I walked toward them. The familiar swoosh, swoosh, swoosh returned to my ears as my blood rushed to my head. I could hear people talking around me, polite dinner conversations and inside jokes, but it was all muffled and garbled as if I were underwater.
My legs felt heavy, but I continued to lumber toward them because there was something that I had to know. I needed my question answered, or I’d never be able to really move on from this. I’d never be able to look around my house and not see Dee Dee, and I’d never be able to take a bath in the Jacuzzi, and I’d never be able to enjoy hot rolls, and peppery wine, and gentle conversations with accountants named Fred who liked the color gray and can cut down their own Christmas tree. It didn’t take long for me to reach their table, but it took me a very long time to reach the point in the healing process where I was ready to confront those who wronged me. It took way too long, and I refused to let it take another minute.