by Matt Shaw
Ah, a way in.
“Well, write up a list and I’ll do it for you if you want. I do everyone else’s - one more list won’t hurt.”
She laughed. “It’s okay. I’ll struggle on.”
“If you ever change your mind, I feel like I’m here as much as you.”
Close. A shame.
“Did you want any help packing?” asked another employee. He came out of nowhere but must have noticed that, although Susie has been scanning through the items, I’ve been too busy chatting and hardly packed anything - all the goods starting to back up.
I flash him a look, annoyed that he dared interrupt Susie and I.
“I’m fine, thank you. I have a particular way of doing it.”
He doesn’t reply, he slinks back from where ever he first originally sprung from.
“I’ll let you catch up for a bit,” said Susie.
In contrast to the look I gave the lad, I flash her a smile.
I wonder, did she see the look I gave him. I should learn to hide my moods better. It’s not his fault. He didn’t deserve any rudeness, he was just doing his job. I hope she didn’t see it.
“Thank you,” I say as I start packing the groceries into the flimsy bags provided, once more, by Susie.
She’s still smiling, I don’t think she noticed the look.
Good.
She turns away and continues to scan through the items, slower this time.
Just ask her out, be direct. Stop playing games. You’ll never find love if you don’t chase it. It’s easier for women - they always have the power seat. They get to sit and wait. Sit and wait for us men to approach them. They definitely have it easy. The worst that happens, from a woman’s point of view, is no one approaches them.
The rejection they face isn’t as obvious as the rejection we face as they turn us down. Even so, if you don’t ask - you’ll never know.
* * * * *
“SUSIE!” shouted my friend, Jackie, as she came into the canteen area. “Well?”
“Well what?” I asked as she sat opposite me with her packed lunch. I avoided eye-contact and nibbled the corner of my cucumber sandwich. I knew what she was referring to.
“Who was he? Don’t think I didn’t see you.” She tilted her head until she could get eye contact with me. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ssh.”
“No! What was all that about? Who is he?”
I laughed again, “He’s a customer...”
“Oh, come on!”
“He’s a regular, he’s in here every other day - does shopping for his family.”
“Susie! Tell me the truth!” she gave me a playful slap on the arm.
I’m not sure what to tell her. He is just a customer. He’s just a customer that gave me his mobile number....
She continued, “He passed his number to you, didn’t he?”
... which Jackie obviously saw.
“Are you going to call him?” she continued.
“I’m not sure yet,” I said truthfully. I’d been single for a while now and did feel lonely but I still miss him - my Samuel - even though he used to treat me like dirt, there was something about him, something that I struggled to let go of.
“If you’re not, can I have his number? It would be a shame to waste it!” she laughed.
“How is Ryan?” I asked her.
“He’s fine.”
Ryan was Jackie’s partner but sometimes she’d forget this as her wandering eye was quick to latch onto any poor unsuspecting fella who she liked the look of.
“What have you got to lose?” she asked, moving on a bit too quickly from the conversation about her own love life. She took a mouthful from her sandwich, some paste -filled mess that I couldn’t work out but stank to high heaven. Crab paste, maybe. She stopped chewing and looked at me hard, “You’re not still thinking about Sam are you?”
I just looked at her. A look that said it all - yes, I was.
“He’s an asshole,” she said through a mouthful of mushed up mess. “Look at how he treats you... what is it with him?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. Not a lie.
“Have you heard from him?”
“Not for a while.”
“How long’s a while?” she continued, refusing to let go.
“A couple of months.”
“So you left him because you knew things weren’t right, finally met someone else, he came back on the scene promising you he had changed and offered you everything you had wanted. You left the new bloke to go back with him and then....”
“He vanished again.”
“He’s an asshole,” she repeated. “Where’s your mobile?”
“In my locker.”
“Get it. Call him.”
“Sam?”
“No, the man you’re not telling me about! Call him.”
“And say what?”
“That you’d like to go out with him.”
“But I’m not sure that -”
“He was nice looking, he was interested.... what have you got to lose?”
I didn’t answer. I had nothing to lose. He was nice looking. He was interested.
“Get your phone,” continued Jackie. “Strike whilst the iron is hot.”
She didn’t wait for me to argue with her or give her any excuses, she simply stood up and ventured over to the side of the canteen where all the lockers stood in a long line, she twisted the handle but, of course, it’s locked.
“Come on,” she said. “Worst case scenario, you don’t click, never see him again and sit about pining after that asshole. Best case scenario - you’re married with kids before you know it.”
“Kids?” I protested. I don’t think I’m quite ready for kids yet. I know my mum and dad definitely don’t think I’m ready for them just yet; not their special little girl.
“Susie, come on, you’re being silly. Call him.”
“I don’t like talking on the phone, though.”
“Text him then! You’re forever texting people. I’m sure he won’t care how the message comes through to him!”
I stood up and walked over to Jackie. A few seconds later and I was unlocking my locker door and fishing my mobile from the bag that hung on the door.
“I’m not sure.” I repeated.
“Do it. Nothing to lose.” She also repeated.
She was right, of course, I don’t have anything to lose. I could meet him, have a drink and leave if I didn’t like him. He did seem nice, though, but then - when trying to impress you - they all seem nice. It’s only when you get to know them that you realise the truth.
Men are assholes.
Sam was nice to begin with and look how he turned out.
I pulled the receipt, with Peter’s scrawled down mobile number, from the pocket on the front of my blouse where I had stashed it.
“You really think he looked nice?” I asked.
“I mean it, Susie, if you’re not going to use it - I will.”
I knew she wasn’t joking and navigated to the message section of my phone.
This is it.
I stopped.
What do I say?
Jackie looked at me, “What are you waiting for?”
Do I introduce myself first or do I just blurt out that I’d like to go for a drink. Perhaps sign my name at the end of it. I can’t remember - did I even tell him my name? What if there are loads of people out there with his number? What if I’m one of many that he’s waiting for a text from? How do I not come across as desperate in the text? Should I even text? Maybe a phone call is better? No, I’d sound nervous on the phone and only end up making an idiot of myself. Definitely text him....
“Did you want me to text him for you?” asked Jackie - obviously sensing my apprehension.
I smiled at her and she took the phone from my nervous grip.
“Should I just tell him to meet you about the back for a quick suck and fuck?” she asked with an evil glint in her eye.
“Don’t you
dare!”
The problem with Jackie is, I wouldn’t have put it past her.
5
I’m not sure why I was so nervous about texting him. He gave me his number, after all. He wanted me to text him. He wanted me to get in touch. I’m so used to disappointment, after Sam, that I guess I just always seem to expect it now.
I didn’t always used to be a glass-half empty kind of girl but now I feel like it’s all I am. Who knows - maybe tonight is the night where all that will change.
I hope so.
I don’t like being negative all the time.
The last two days have flown by faster than usual. I’m not sure whether it’s because I have been so busy or because I’ve been so excited about this evening.
Please don’t let it be a disaster.
Please.
I look at my reflection in the bedroom mirror. I’m not normally vain but, have to say, looking good. It took me ages to decide what to wear but, in the end, I went with a simple black dress that stops just above the knees.
Classy.
Elegant.
Simple.
Not too short. Not too long.
Everything else in my wardrobe just made me look tarty - clothes that were once purchased just because Sam wanted me to wear them. He liked the tarty look. When we split up - the first thought I had was, at least I never have to wear those outfits again.
I really must give them away.
I wonder, would anyone even want them if they were hanging in a charity shop window? Perhaps I’ll just bin them.
I lean over to my bedside cabinet and take a small bottle of perfume from off the top. A couple of squirts into the air and I step into the nice smelling mist. I always find it too strong when sprayed directly onto my skin.
I put the bottle back where I found it and stop.
Am I over-dressed? He’s only coming around for a meal - his suggestion.
I wonder why he didn’t want to take me out somewhere nice, instead? Money, I guess. Or maybe he wants to impress me with his cooking skills. I was surprised when he said he’d cook for me around my house as opposed to his own home. God, imagine if he still lives with his mum. No, he can’t do. If he did - he wouldn’t have to keep coming in on separate shopping trips - he could do it all in one. Speaking of food and cooking... I best check on the chicken - it’s starting to smell done.
As I walk across the landing and down the stairs, towards the kitchen, I can’t help but worry slightly that I’ve ruined his ‘date’ idea by cooking for him instead. I didn’t even tell him I was going to do it. I just thought it made more sense to get the food ready before he got here so we could have more time relaxing.
It also meant we could eat at a sensible time.
What if he brings a take-away?
No.
He wouldn’t.
He said he’d make us a roast dinner. He seemed pretty sure of that. I’m sure he’ll be fine with what I’ve done for him. I’m sure he’ll think it a nice gesture.
I hope.
I don’t want to blow it at the first hurdle. I’ve had enough of being single. It would be nice to meet someone that genuinely liked me.
In the kitchen, I open the oven door and peer in - the chicken is looking perfect; dark brown skin - crispy. Just the way I like it. The potatoes that are sat in the same oil as the chicken, soaking up the chicken’s juices, are looking good too. I’ve always been good with roasting potatoes. I make it so they’re fluffy on the inside but nice and crunchy on the outside.
All thanks to adding flour to them when you first put them into the oven. First sprinkle a little bit of an oxo cube on them, for added flavour, and then some flour. I’m not sure where I first read to do that but I’ve been doing it ever since and they always come out perfect.
I turn the oven down a little bit as he isn’t due to arrive for another twenty minutes and I don’t want to be serving up a burnt offering. Not a good first impression. Although, having said that, at least he might actually volunteer to take me out for a meal next time.
Maybe I should turn the oven back up.
I laugh to myself as I pour a cheeky glass of white wine.
I’m not much of a drinker; just one glass to help with the apprehension I’m feeling in the pit of my stomach. Damn nerves always seem to get the better of me.
I look at the clock on the oven door - nineteen minutes to go.
* * * * *
Nineteen minutes to go. I know I should wait but I don’t want to. I’d been thinking of this moment since I received the text message from her; thinking of our meeting. I knew, when I saw her first, we were meant to be together and it was nice to see she wasted no time in messaging me after I gave her my number.
I turn the key in my car’s ignition, killing the engine in the process. No sense leaving the engine running whilst I wait, hopefully around the corner from her house. It’s a warm evening so I don’t need the heating to be running.
I’m anxious about tonight. Part of me wonders whether I should have brought something else to eat, instead of the usual microwave meal that I opt for. After all, she’s seen me buying the meals, she’s seen how much they cost - both varieties. I hope she doesn’t think I’m cheap.
No.
I’m sure she won’t.
To be extra sure, I left our meals in the boxes this time - so she can see that she gets the good stuff. She gets The Captain. Hopefully that will impress her. Hopefully.
I cast my eye to the clock on the car’s dashboard and give it a tap. Is it still working? The minute hand moves slightly. It’s working.
Stop being impatient.
Mind you, I like this girl. I could always go in early.
No.
Don’t appear too keen. Otherwise it gives them the power and it’s important to establish you’re the one in the power seat right from the get-go. I need to take charge and show her I’m the man. I’m the one wearing the trousers in this relationship.
Relationship.
Settle yourself.
It’s the first date.
I’m sure she could be the one but no sense getting ahead of myself otherwise there’s more potential to go in, like a bull in a china shop, and ruin it.
Over-confidence.