by Adele Huxley
“If I look over here, I actually will be,” I said as I grinned at Zach. Anette started snapping pics of me from different angles while I pressed the issue further. “What’s so different about meeting guys online compared to out at the bar? At least they can’t roofie me over the internet.”
“Look at you, you gorgeous beast. Those freckles, that long hair…” Anette said in her best photographer impression.
“My white skin and 12-year-old boy hips,” I quipped.
“I… it’s…” There was something behind Zach’s dark eyes, a comment that he held back. In the end, he watched us take a few photos before shaking his head in defeat and standing. “I’m gonna order from Mr. Parker’s. Do you two want anything?”
“I’m going to work.”
“Nope, I’m good, thanks,” I replied, nodding to my half-eaten dinner. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, good, no worries,” he waved as he left our apartment and went upstairs.
“Stop frowning,” Anette commanded.
Ten minutes later, we were sitting on the sofa as she installed the app on my phone. I felt as nervous as if I were waiting in a doctor’s office to get my blood drawn.
“There. You need to log into Facebook first and then it’ll…”
“Facebook?” I screeched. Visions of Kevin seeing that I was now on Tinder choked my throat closed. I’d set the thing on fire and chuck it out the window before I’d let that happen.
Knowing where my paranoid, overactive imagination had gone to, Anette shushed me. “No one can see what you’re doing. How successful do you think this app would be if Aunt Betty could see that you were getting pounded on the reg?”
I pressed my lips together to stop from laughing. Still, I’d learned things growing up a Millennial. Nude selfies inevitably leak, the share button is not your friend, and the thing you most want to keep away from Aunt Betty will find its way straight to her.
“I don’t know…”
“Zach uses it all the time and you’ve never seen anything on his page, right?” she said with barely-there patience.
“I guess not… wait, he uses it all the time?”
She dropped the phone in my lap. “Have a look around, see what’s out there. It can’t hurt.”
“But wait! How does it work?”
“You get profiles of people near you, right? And if you don’t like the look of them, swipe them left, like this,” she said as she demonstrated. The image card flew off the side of the screen only to be replaced by a new one. “If you do like what you see, like this little hottie here, you swipe right.”
I was finally starting to connect some of the slang Anette had used to actual actions. “And then what?”
She laughed, ruffling her hair. “Then it’s a match and you get to bang.”
I woke up to an eerily quiet apartment late the next morning. With Anette nowhere to be found and Pluto begging to go for a walk, I slipped into a plain cream tee and floral skirt to take him out. The heat and humidity immediately stuck my hair to my neck with sweat. Groggy but introspective, I took the dog on a loop several blocks long.
The couples and young families were out in full force. It seemed everywhere I looked, another young pair were holding hands and smiling into shop windows. Jerkwads.
I missed Kevin. I hated myself for missing Kevin. We’d been together for so long it’d taken a while to accept I was no longer one half of a pair. Maybe it made me a bitch, but I resented all the couples for all their happiness.
I also hated how impersonal the hookup and dating scene felt. Was that all there was to it? I like the look of you, let’s fuck. I’d spent the whole of my teens and early twenties with the same person, blissfully unaware how everyone around us went about meeting people. Sure, Anette, Lourdes, Zach and my other friends complained, but I never thought it was like this.
After working up a good sweat, I trotted Pluto back up to the apartment, already hating where my head was at. I was tired of thinking about dating, and by proxy, Kevin. I wouldn’t be in this situation if he hadn’t dumped me. While I was thankful that he showed his true colors before we got married or had kids, I wanted to kick him in the nads all the same. It was because of him I had to deal with weirdos who apparently took seduction advice from Jim Carrey. And not like The Truman Show Jim Carrey, either. I’m talking about Jim Carrey in The Mask. Just terrible. Ugh.
I dropped the leash on the back of the sofa and realized all I wanted was a huge iced coffee from my favorite coffee shop and an hour to myself. That’s all. Not a lot to ask, really. With a spark of excitement, I upped the ante and grabbed my Kindle. Will I actually have time to read for pleasure for once? I gave Clint English’s manuscript a side-long glance and wondered if I shouldn’t work on that instead, but shook the thought away.
“Treat yo’ self first,” I said to myself, mimicking another Anette-ism.
The universe seemed to agree. Tom’s was the best coffee shop in all of Manhattan and also happened to be two blocks away. The small store always had a line stretching out the door. With only two tables out front on the sidewalk and an additional ten inside, getting a seat was a luxury I never counted on. As I approached, I saw movement in the window and managed to grab a small table just as a couple left. I sat down, spreading out my belongings feeling no less victorious than if I’d just conquered a small country.
This is exactly what I need, I thought, pulling cash out of my purse. I turned to a guy not much older than me sitting at the next table. “Excuse me, sorry. Would you mind just keeping an eye on my stuff while I grab a drink?”
The way he blinked made me think he might not speak English, but he quickly replied. “Yes, of course. I’d be happy to.” I hadn’t noticed at first, but he was actually kind of cute, in a hipster sort of way. Who wears flannel in this heat? I thought.
“Thanks,” I smiled, standing before my body betrayed my thoughts. Not today, Talia. Today is a you day.
If there’s anything in this world that says indulgence, it’s a massive iced coffee with two pumps of vanilla syrup. And if there’s anything in this world that can make me forget about men, even the shitty ones like Kevin, it’s a good book. I figured by the time I took my first sip and read my first sentence, I’d be in the me-zone.
One of my favorite professors in college told me once to make a list of five or ten things I love to do. Afterward, he said, “Don’t make the first one your career, because no one will ever love it the same way you do.” While I saw the wisdom in his words, I didn’t listen. With a degree in English Lit and a job lined up at a new publisher, I’d zeroed right in on the thing I loved most. I realize I’m far too young to say whether he was right or wrong, but there is nothing else in this world for me but the written word. Editing, reading, writing… I don’t care. I adore every part of it. Nothing takes my mind off things like a great book. Usually.
Which is why I became so frustrated when I couldn’t concentrate on my book. With my peripheral vision, I noticed the guy in flannel with the dreamy eyes checking me out every thirty seconds. After the first couple times, I noted he’d been staring at the same folded piece of newspaper for five minutes. I tried to refocus, to switch on the blinders you need to survive in a city like New York, but nothing worked. I felt his gaze and what bothered me most, I enjoyed it.
Anette pressuring me into dating again had flipped an internal switch. I’d been happily celibate for months, needing nothing more than a few packs of batteries to keep me satisfied. I’d reluctantly gone out with Ethan, a.k.a. Mr. Chompy. Even with his terrifying mating dance, I realized how much I missed a man’s touch. Having a pair of eyes so intent on me was almost better than foreplay.
Working up the nerve, I eventually caught his eye and smiled. He pounced on the opportunity. “It must be good here,” he said so fast I barely understood him.
“What? What’s good?”
“The coffee. You’re almost finished.”
“Oh! Yeah, it’s the best. Did you like your…”
I struggled to figure out what he’d had to drink. Why did my mouth always start sentences my brain didn’t know how to finish?
He mercifully ignored my moment of social awkwardness and pressed on. “I have to admit, I’m a little jealous of the straw. Can I buy you another coffee?”
I giggled a little too loud, drawing the attention of a few people standing in line behind him. “I’d be bouncing off the walls then, no thanks. But thanks.”
He made a point of folding up the paper I knew he hadn’t been reading and turned toward me. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”
“I don’t get a chance to actually sit and relax often. It’s more of a guilty pleasure for me. With being so busy usually, I rarely have the time. Besides, that’s probably a blessing in disguise, you know? As much as I love this place, if left to my own devices, I’d probably drink my bodyweight in iced coffee and end up tipping the scales at four hundred pounds, easy,” I rambled, laughing nervously. I mentally punched myself in the face. Open mouth, insert foot, Talia. If I could’ve crawled under the table and died without him noticing, I would absolutely have tried.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d be beautiful, no matter how much you weighed. The more there is of you, the more there is for someone to love, right?” he chuckled, as he twisted the newspaper a bit with his hands. His words were light but the look in his eyes said something else that I couldn’t quite put a finger on. Before I had a chance to really dwell on it, the conversation moved on.
As we talked, I felt more and more justified in my reluctance to dive into online dating. This is what human interaction is about. Two people meeting, feeling a connection, and finding out if there’s anything more to it. The idea of swiping left or right to pick a date is ridiculous. Anette is completely wrong. Being able to talk to someone face-to-face, read their body language, look into their eyes… there’s no hiding there.
If I only knew how quickly I’d regret even thinking that to myself….
“I’m Keith, by the way,” he said as he offered his hand.
“Talia,” I smiled, reaching out with my own. When our hands touched, he didn’t grasp it the way a normal person would when making an introduction. Instead, he brushed his index finger across my wrist and sighed.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
When Clint English had uttered the word, I nearly fainted. When Keith said it, I wanted to shiver.
My smile tightened a touch as I pulled it away. “You too.”
“Talia. Tah-lee-yah. TA-lee-YAH. Your name is so beautiful. I love the way it tastes on my tongue. Sweet. So sweet. Sweet Talia. Sweet like hot cinnamon rolls in the winter or like a delicious cherry pie left to cool on a windowsill of a summer home in the Hamptons. It just rolls around on my tongue when I say it. Melting like warm butter. Tahleeeyahh.” He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and smacked his lips.
Oh. Kay. The conversation had officially become a U-turn on a one-way street into Monday morning rush hour traffic. When he opened his eyes and looked at me, it took every ounce of control I had to keep from grimacing.
“You know, I don’t live very far from here,” he whispered like it was some big secret.
“No kidding. I live in Bushwick. Way out in Bushwick. I was just up here for… an interview.” Why am I such a terrible liar? I chastised myself. An interview. Wearing this outfit. On a Saturday. Idiot.
Keith didn’t seem to know or care I’d just lied to his face. I noticed the crowd growing thicker behind him and the room began to feel claustrophobic. I was pinned in the corner of the shop with the window to my left and Keith’s table to the right. He’d placed his seat directly in the path of my exit.
“Maybe you’d like to show me more tricks you can do with that straw. I have a few at home you could test out. Or, if this kind is your favorite, we can grab some to play with.”
Flabbergasted. I know a lot of words, but none describe exactly what I was feeling better than that one. I needed to get the hell out of there and fast. I’m socially awkward in the best of situations, so I just about imploded with nerves.
“I, uh… what? I have to go to the bathroom. But… wait. You have multiple straws in your home? I am rather partial to certain kinds. What kind did you say you had again?” I thought making small talk would distract him while I slipped the Kindle into my purse.
Oblivious to my discomfort, he scooted his chair forward even more, further blocking my exit. With no hesitation, he glided his hand up my bare knee and held me with his gaze. A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. It was amazing how quickly a man could go from attractive to repulsive.
“I have an idea. Why don’t you take off your panties while you’re in the bathroom and slip them into my hand when you come back?”
Oh. My. God. Never in my life have so many alarm bells gone off in my head at once. I don’t even remember if I said anything as I grabbed my bag and hurdled past the empty chair to my right.
I pushed through the line toward a door in the far left corner of the shop. With my sweaty hands slipping over the doorknob, it took a few tries before I realized the door was locked. Shit! There was a slight commotion as Keith tried to defend my abandoned table from an older woman attempting to swoop in. I took the opportunity to duck behind the front counter and hide.
The staff didn’t notice me right away, rushing around, taking orders, filling cups with ice and liquid heaven. My overactive imagination had Keith closing in from the front, maybe trying to corner me in the bathroom and steal my panties for himself.
“Excuse me? You can’t be back here,” a voice said from above. A young girl with half her hair shaved frowned down at me.
“I’m just waiting for the bathroom.” I tried to sound casual but deflective, like, Don’t mind me down here. Just gotta pee.
“We don’t have a bathroom,” she said slowly, clearly thinking I was unstable.
And as I crouched on the floor, I noticed the sign on the door in front of me for the first time. I’d come to Tom’s more times than I can count, yet I’d never noticed that door said “Staff Only” and not “Restroom.” Double shit.
I leveled with her, woman-to-woman. She’d have to understand. “Okay. You see the guy in the red flannel in the corner?” I whispered harshly. By this point, I’d drawn the attention of the other guy working behind the counter. He hadn’t stopped what he was doing but was keeping an eye on the situation, ready to jump in if I attempted to rob the place.
The girl looked through the increasingly annoyed crowd. “Yeah…”
My knees began to scream from holding the crouch for so long, so I shimmied down to my ass and straightened my legs. “That guy has been super creepy.”
“You’ve been talking to him for the last half hour,” she said suspiciously.
“Are you kidding me right now? He just asked me to take off my underwear. I thought I could hide and wait for him to leave, but…”
Just then, the door swung open and an older man came charging from the back room like his shirt was on fire. He was carrying two huge pitchers in each hand and moving too fast. “I think this is the last of it. We have to make more, but tomorrow’s gonna be…”
I tried to pull my legs back in time, but his foot managed to just clip my shoe. It all moved in slow motion. He threw one pitcher up in the air as he thrust a hand out to catch himself. The dark, tan liquid arced through the air like a beautiful sculpture. I pressed myself against the counter in a feeble attempt to make myself smaller while the girl tried to catch her manager.
In the end, all three of us lay heaped up on the floor. Thanks to the laws of gravity, what went up, did come down… all over my thin, cream-colored shirt. A few seconds of shocked silence were broken by the manager cursing. He clutched the remaining pitcher to his chest, now emptied all over the floor and his shirt.
“What the flying fuck are you doing on the floor? You could’ve killed me.”
“I am so sorry! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I asked as I climbed to my kn
ees. I was genuinely concerned but kept glancing around the corner, waiting for Keith to appear. A few faces peered over the edge of the counter, mostly irritated their coffee order was taking too long… or now all over the floor.
“Do you have a reason to be behind here?”
“I, well, I was just explaining to…”
“Are you mentally impaired?”
“No…”
With barely controlled rage, the manager sat up and pointed to the front of the store. “Then I think it’s best that you leave.”
“Of course. Absolutely. I’m so sorry,” I muttered, peeling my wet, transparent shirt away from my skin. With a dripping bag and enough embarrassment to last a lifetime, I scurried from the store as fast as I could. A few people laughed as I ran past, but at least I found one way to get through a crowd easily. Just drench myself in cold-pressed coffee and walk through. I made it to the corner before Keith called out behind me.
“Wait! Talia! Can I at least get your number?”
Talia? Talia who? I don’t know any Talia, I thought as my long strides took me away from Tom’s, probably forever.
“Wait!”
I nearly broke into a sprint. All I could think was, swiping left, swiping left, swipe motherfucking left…
I spent far longer building and developing my dating profile than I’d ever admit to. How am I supposed to sum myself up in a few sentences? Which photos best encapsulate me as a person? They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but they obviously had never tried to create an online profile before. I wanted to make it perfectly clear I wasn’t looking to hook up while at the same time not coming off as some relationship-obsessed freak. I wouldn’t turn down fun, casual sex but equally wouldn’t say no to seriously dating the right guy. Try putting that in a few sentences while sounding fun and not at all insane. It. Was. Impossible. In the end, this is what I went with:
“Hey, I’m Talia. I’m a little obsessed with Jane Austen, the color blue, Game of Thrones, and the Mets. Not looking for anything serious. Seriously.”