And how. “Totally. Have you done this before?”
“Nope. What about you?”
“This is my first time too. Although after seven dates, we’re sort of experts now, huh?”
“And I saved my best material for last.”
“Did you now?” I surprise myself with my flirtatious tone.
Ben runs a hand through his short, light brown hair. “I sure did. I have all sorts of party tricks in my repertoire.”
I lean forward. “Like what?”
“Well, for one, I’m a talented juggler. And I can swallow fire.”
“And where did you learn these tricks?”
“I trained for the circus.”
“Really?”
Ben nods in response, his face expressionless.
I narrow my eyes at him. I assume he is pulling my leg, but he looks so earnest. And according to Melanie, there are places in the city that offer circus classes. “For real?”
Ben leans forward as if to tell me a secret and then whispers, “Not for real. I’m not a fan of the circus. I hate clowns.”
Giggling, I say, “So do I.” I conclude Ben is kind of adorable, even if he can pass for my brother. I hope that doesn’t make me conceited.
“Do you live in the city, Maggie?”
I nod. “In Gramercy. How about you?”
“Murray Hill. We’re practically neighbors.”
Murray Hill is notorious for being a very young neighborhood, but I would peg Ben for at least thirty-five. “How do you like Murray Hill?”
Ben crinkles his nose. “Well, it’s convenient since I work in midtown, but to be honest, it’s got a post-college vibe.”
I laugh. “We refer to it as Fraternity Row.” I realize a second too late the “we” in question is Doug and me.
Ben chuckles with me. “Yeah, that’s about right. I’m thirty-nine, so sometimes when I grab a beer at a local pub after work, I worry I’ll be mistaken for someone’s dad.”
“I know what you mean. I’m thirty-nine as well.” I hold my breath in anticipation of his disappointment, but none appears.
“Maybe we can head to one of those teeny-bopper bars together and show them how it’s done,” Ben says with a wink.
My heart beats faster as I wonder if it was a rhetorical question, or if he is asking me out. Since I have no idea how to respond, I’m relieved when PH interrupts with, “Time!” before I have a chance.
As she continues speaking—something about the bar remaining open if anyone wants to hang around—I say, “It was nice meeting you,” to Ben.
Ben stands up. Making eye contact with me, he says, “Same here, Maggie. A great way to end the evening.”
I spot Amanda heading my way with her coat already on and put on my jacket as she reaches my table. Once Ben is out of earshot, I say, “What’d you think?”
Amanda gives me a timid smile. “It could have been worse. Let’s grab something to eat and swap stories.”
My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t consumed solid food since lunch. “Do you mind if I ask Melanie to join us? Since we’re near the office, she told me to text her if we went out to dinner.” I glance at my watch. “Although she might have left already.” It’s almost nine thirty p.m., which is late to be in the office even for a workaholic attorney like Melanie.
“I don’t mind,” Amanda says.
Then I remember that this was Amanda’s first single’s event in over a decade, and she might not want to discuss it with Melanie. “Are you sure? I don’t have to call her if you’d rather discuss this in private.”
Amanda pats my arm. “No worries. But let’s go. I’m starving.”
I text Melanie to tell her we’re heading over to Public House on 41st Street if she’s interested. She responds a few seconds later to confirm she’ll join us. I put my phone in my purse. “She’ll meet us there soon.”
A few minutes later, the three of us are perusing the menu at Public House. The pub is crowded, but most of the patrons are hanging around the bar watching basketball. We easily secure a table in the restaurant section. Melanie wastes no time on pleasantries, jumping on us the minute the waitress is finished taking our orders. “So…spill.”
I glance at Amanda. “You first, since this was your gig and I was merely your sidekick and chaperone. How’d it go?”
Her lips curling up, Amanda says, “I actually had fun. It was so low pressure, and all the guys were relatively normal.”
“Did you make a love connection?” Melanie asks with a questioning gaze.
Amanda smirks. “No love connection was made, but I’m seeing my therapist tomorrow morning. I’m afraid she’s going to encourage me to pick some of the guys anyway for practice dates. I’m hoping she’ll say attending the event was good enough.”
Beaming at Amanda, I say, “You shouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. I hope you’re proud of yourself for going in the first place. It was a huge step, and you didn’t even complain.”
“Unlike this one,” Melanie mutters, shaking her head at me. The conversation halts momentarily when the waitress appears with our food, but when she leaves again, Melanie immediately turns to me. “And you, my dear? Anyone you liked?”
I sigh. “Besides the guy who kindly suggested I was too old for him but would be a hit with the over-fifty crowd?”
Melanie has a forkful of salad at the opening to her mouth but drops it into her bowl. “You’re kidding me.”
Amanda’s eyes widen like saucers. “Someone seriously said that to you?”
“Pretty much verbatim.” I nod solemnly.
Amanda asks, “Which guy?” Her face is as white as fresh snow, and I can tell she’s as horrified as I was.
“John K.,” I say.
“How old was he?” Melanie asks.
“This is what kills me. He was older than me by two years.”
Chomping on lettuce, Melanie says, “What a dick.”
I remove my pink piece of paper from my bag and point to where I wrote “asshole” next to his name. “But dick works well too,” I say.
I chuckle with Melanie until I notice Amanda gazing off into space. “You all right?”
Snapping to attention, Amanda says, “Yeah, I’m fine. I knew you were afraid you’d be the oldest girl there, but I never dreamed someone would throw it in your face. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Not your fault,” I insist. “And besides, the rest of the guys were totally cool.” I pause and then clarify, “Well, maybe not totally cool. But not dicks.”
“Besides, Maggie isn’t even forty yet, so to suggest she should hook up with men more than ten years older is bullshit,” Melanie says.
I wave a hand. “Honestly. I was upset for about five minutes until I realized the source of the comment was no one I had any desire to go out with anyway. Or even be friends with.”
Amanda nods in agreement, but she seems uncomfortable.
Narrowing my eyes at her, I say, “What?”
“It’s just…” Amanda stops and lowers her gaze. “John K. was the one guy I was going to let my therapist talk me into choosing.”
Melanie nearly chokes on her salad. “Oh my God.”
I feel my face drain of color. “You are full of surprises, but if you like him, I’ll learn to like him too,” I lie, crossing my fingers behind my back. I take a bite of my sandwich to avoid direct eye contact with her. I know the girl hasn’t dated since her twenties, but she needs to sharpen her jerk-radar big-time. Then again, I’m sure John poured on the charm with Amanda. She’s beautiful and at only thirty-four meets his age requirements.
Whipping her head back, Amanda says, “Not a chance. I would never date a guy who would think such an unsolicited comment was appropriate or even remotely helpful.”
I tip my head in her direction
. “You sure?”
“I’m positive. It’s not like I wanted to marry the guy. I figured if my therapist forced me to pick at least one guy, I’d choose him. He was the cutest.”
“You think?” I ask in surprise. “I thought Ben C. was way cuter.” As the table falls silent, I realize I admitted to liking one of the guys and curse myself. I attempt to back pedal. “Relatively speaking, of course.” I spoon some soup into my mouth, hoping my friends will let the subject drop.
Leaning forward in interest, Melanie asks, “Who was Ben C.?”
No such luck.
I wipe my chin with a napkin. “He was the last guy I met tonight. I thought he was kind of attractive,” I admit.
Smirking, Melanie says, “You don’t say? Interesting.”
I roll my eyes at her.
“What did you think of Ben C.?” Melanie asks Amanda.
“He was the first guy I met. I was too nervous to pay much attention for the first couple of dates. All I remember is him spilling red wine on the table,” Amanda says.
“Sounds perfect for our girl, Maggie,” Melanie joshes.
“No one is perfect for me,” I say. “Except maybe Doug.” I managed to go almost the entire night without thinking of him, but the ache in my gut has now re-emerged with a vengeance.
Melanie frowns. “We’re not trying to replace Doug, but if you felt something for this Ben dude, why don’t you pick him?”
“I didn’t feel anything for him,” I say, a decibel too loud. Lowering my voice, I continue, “He was nice and cute. Although maybe I only think so because he resembles me.”
Melanie raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?” Turning to Amanda, she asks, “Do Ben and Maggie look alike?”
Giggling, Amanda agrees. “I didn’t notice it at the time, but they do have the same coloring and freckles.”
“How sweet,” Melanie mocks.
“Stop it,” I plead. No longer hungry, I place my napkin on my plate.
“I think you should pick him,” Melanie says. “What do you think, Amanda?”
Amanda sighs. “I’m the last person who will force you to choose this guy if you really don’t want to.”
“Thank y—”
“But, you don’t have anything to lose. He might not even pick you back, and then you won’t have to worry about it. And if he does, you can always change your mind. But if you don’t pick him, the choice will be taken from you. Remember, interest has to be mutual or no contact information will be exchanged.”
“I second Amanda,” Melanie says.
I remove my napkin from my plate and pop a potato chip in my mouth. To appease them, I say, “If we can change the subject, I promise to sleep on it, okay?” I hate to lie to Amanda and Melanie, but in all honesty, I’m not too keen on taking their advice. They encouraged me to call Doug.
I try my best to avoid Melanie at work the next day. I don’t want to give her the opportunity to ask what I’ve decided about Ben C. Unfortunately, I haven’t decided anything, despite going through the pros and cons of both options while tossing and turning in bed the night before. One con is I’m not over Doug, and nowhere near ready for another relationship. Would it be fair to lead Ben to believe I’m emotionally available when I’m not? A valid point, but agreeing to go on one date is not the equivalent of telling the guy I want to marry him.
Ben C. made me laugh, and I did think he was cute. A point in favor of my going out with him is the high likelihood of enjoying his company, even if the date doesn’t lead anywhere. But what is the purpose of going out with the guy if I have no interest in taking it to another level?
Every argument I have to go out with the guy comes with an equally credible reason not to go out with him and vice-versa. Time I should have spent sleeping was instead used up engaging in an internal debate, and I have puffy circles under my eyes this morning to prove it.
As I rub my tired eyes, I hear a scuffle of feet and glance in the direction of my office door in time to catch Philip walking by. He raises his hand in a wave, giving me full view of his wedding ring in the process. As I unenthusiastically return the gesture, minus the wedding ring display, my stomach drops.
What am I going to do if Doug marries Lindsay?
Before I can chicken out, I login to the speed dating website. Scrolling through the list of the men I met the night before, I spot the name “Ben C.” and click “Interested in a second date.”
March
My hands shake as I lock the door to my apartment. I might be late for my first date with Ben C. We’re meeting in ten minutes at Terroir Wine Bar, and while it’s only four blocks from my building, I always underestimate how long it takes to wait for the elevator. If it’s a local—stopping on every floor—getting to the lobby could take me close to ten minutes. Then again, even if I’m late, it will only be by a couple of minutes, and I suppose it’s less awkward than being early.
I needn’t have worried. The wait for the elevator is not even enough time for me to check my iPhone for new emails, and before I know it, I’m outside and crossing from the south side of 27th Street toward the bar located between 30th and 31st. The gusts of wind smack me in the face with force, and I pull my knit hat over my ears in retaliation.
I can’t tell if I’m nervous or merely dreading the evening ahead of me, but my stomach is in knots. Ripping the mitten off of my right hand, I pull my phone out of my bag and call Jodie. She answers on the first ring.
My bare hand is already frozen from exposure to the cold, but willing myself to stop thinking about it, I say, “I need a pep talk.”
“They call me Peppy McGee for a reason. What can I do you for?”
Even though I fear losing a finger to frostbite, I slow my step to avoid arriving at the bar too early. “Why do people call you Peppy McGee? Your last name is Anderson.”
“I’m being silly. What do you need a pep talk for?”
“I have my date with speed dating guy tonight.”
“He’s gonna love you,” she squeals enthusiastically. “Did I live up to my name?”
“And how. But I’m not sure I want him to love me.”
Jodie doesn’t say anything, and I can almost hear her thinking through the phone before she speaks again. “I don’t follow you.”
I’m approaching 29th Street and slow my pace even more in order to miss the light. “I don’t have much time.”
“When are you meeting the guy?”
“I’m less than two blocks from the bar.”
She blows air out of her cheeks. “Jeez, Mags. You might have thought of calling me earlier.”
“I know. I didn’t realize I would be so nervous.” I duck under an awning and stop walking. “I’m not predicting a nightmare date or anything, but I don’t know if I’m ready for a great date either. I thought going out with Ben would make me feel like I was moving on. Like Philip and Doug moved on. But I’m not sure I’m ready to move on, or if I even want to. But I can’t spend the next four months sitting at home waiting to turn forty. And unless I move to Sedona, there are only so many rocks I can climb.” I pause for a response, but when none comes, I say, “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“For shizzle. But it has nothing to do with this silly predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.”
I chuckle.
“Listen to me, Maggie. It’s just a date. If you don’t like the guy, it’s not your last chance saloon. You’ll meet someone else eventually.”
I nod but don’t say anything.
“I swear you will.”
“I believe you,” I say, even though the act of falling in love with someone other than Doug seems very out of my grasp right now.
“And if you do like the guy, it doesn’t mean you have to love him or even think about loving him anytime soon. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself, for the love of God. It’s one date. It doesn�
��t have to change your life.”
She has a point and so I allow a modicum of stress to leave my body. “You’re right. It’s just one date.”
“Now go have fun.”
“Thanks. You have lived up to your name, Peppy McGee.”
“And don’t forget to use a condom.”
My mouth drops open. “I’m not—”
“Ciao, Magpie.”
After giving my phone one last glance to check the time, I return it to my bag and hurriedly put my mitten back on before walking the final block to the bar.
I spot Ben sitting at a table in the back of the long, narrow bar, and he stands up when he sees me. He’s wearing a midnight blue sweater and gray work pants. My face gets hot as I note how adorable he is. I was concerned the lighting in the World Bar favorably altered everyone’s appearance—like the skinny mirrors in the dressing room at Macy’s. Or that my memory of the Ben I met more than two weeks ago wouldn’t match the reality of the one I’d meet tonight.
I reach over to kiss him on the cheek. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” His face is still cold—a good sign he hasn’t been here long.
“I just got here a couple of minutes ago.”
Removing my hat from my head and smoothing down my hair, I say, “Glad to hear it.” I let my hands wander under the table and feel around hopefully, searching for hooks.
Ben sits back down, and, as if reading my mind, says, “There are hooks for your bag and coat.”
I place my handbag on one of the hooks. “Great,” I say, while pulling on the zipper of my jacket. I bite down on my lip and jerk the zipper harder, but it doesn’t budge.
Ben’s eyebrows draw together. “Are you all right?”
I yank my zipper in one last attempt and then shake my head in embarrassment. “I’m sort of stuck.”
His blue eyes widen. “Stuck?”
“I can’t get my jacket off.” I curse inwardly at whatever higher power decided now was a good time for my jacket zipper to break.
Ben stands up. “Maybe I can help.”
As he moves closer to me, practically in kissing distance, and starts manipulating my zipper, I consciously lean my head back trying to create more room. I can feel the blood rush to my face. I watch him tugging earnestly, and I wonder if he hates me already. He glances up at me. “Almost got it.”
How Do You Know? Page 17