Single Dad Seeks Juliet

by Max Monroe

  I’m swiping a piece of my broccoli through the juice on my plate and bringing it to my mouth when a shadow appears over me, making my vegetable look darker green.

  I look up, the bite poised at my lips, expecting to find my waiter, but instead, Jake stands there, a grin slathered across the entire bottom half of his face.

  “Enjoying the meal?”

  Shocked, I look behind him at the table I know he and Bianca occupied not long ago and back at him.

  It’s empty, their discarded napkins piled atop the surface, while the busboy scrapes the crumbs from the tablecloth.

  “Where’s Bianca?” I say dumbly, broccoli still hovering at my mouth.

  “She just left. Date is over.”

  “Oh.” How long have I been eating this prime rib? “Already?”

  “It was pretty clear by the time we finished the main course that we weren’t a match.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I finally abandon the broccoli, putting it back on my plate and taking my napkin from my lap. “I’ll just get my stuff and we can—”

  Jake waves a nonchalant hand, pulls out the chair across from me from under the table, and takes a seat. “Sit. Eat. I’m sure you want to debrief, and I’m sure as shit not going to do it on the sidewalk.”

  “Well, I do need to get some clarification on a few things. I couldn’t exactly hear what you guys were saying from my position.”

  His responding smirk calls bullshit. “Get real, Holley. You just want to stay for dessert.”

  I shrug and bite my lip, whispering, “Donuts and ice cream, Jake. Both homemade.”

  “Yeah, okay.” His responding laugh is infectious. “Count me fucking in.”

  Jake

  I stare as Holley sucks the last bite of ice cream off her spoon and moans at the taste. It’s downright sensual, and I have to clear my throat to stop from saying something entirely inappropriate.

  She’s the strangest combination of sexy and awkward I’ve ever spent time around, and I have to admit, it’s a million times more interesting than my date with Bianca this evening.

  I don’t feel bad, though. Bianca was almost as miserable as I was as the night wore on, devastated to be on a date with such a grandpa. No Instagram profile? No Twitter? She couldn’t believe it.

  I can only hope the candidates get better from here, or I don’t see much of a chance of this contest heading anywhere but down Failure Drive.

  “Tell me, was the selection of women done randomly? Or did a chimpanzee do the profile matching? Because tonight’s matchup was a disaster.”

  Holley narrows her eyes and points her empty spoon at me menacingly. “Hey now! You better watch it. I picked the women.”

  I laugh, hard and sharp, and she rolls her eyes. “You’re actually taking credit?”

  “Listen, you don’t know what the applicant pool looked like. Bianca was beautiful…and she sounded way better on paper than she turned out in person, okay?”

  I tilt my head to my shoulder and wait. Just the weight of my stare will be enough to make her rationalize some more, and it’s just so damn fun to listen to what she comes up with.

  “The next women are better, I’m sure. Bianca seemed a little thrown by the whole process from the beginning, but I’m positive you have some really good options left. Just think of this as, like, a drug trial or something. By the time your pill goes to market, the side effects will be minimal.”

  “You sure you want to go with that for your analogy? Have you ever even listened to the side effects on one of those commercials before?”

  I pick up my glass of whiskey to take a small sip as she answers.

  “Of course. This is different, I swear. In fact, I’ll personally guarantee no nausea, vomiting, or anal bleeding whatsoever.”

  Whiskey and spit fly everywhere, coating the table and her and me in a fine sheen.

  She screams a little before breaking out into the most endearing cackles I’ve ever heard. They’re loud. Almost offensively so. But the difference between Holley’s laugh and Bianca’s is that it’s rooted in the belly and grows through the heart. Holley’s laugh—hell, Holley in general—is genuine in a way Bianca only pretends to be.

  No filter.

  I laugh at myself at the thought. I guess some of what Chloe’s been trying to teach me about this shit managed to stick.

  Dessert consumed and debriefing done, it seems like we’re nearing the end of the night.

  Holley fiddles with her napkin, and I roll around the remaining ice in my glass, trying to come up with a reason to stay. And the truth is, I don’t have one.

  “So…what did you have in mind for your next date?” Holley asks, and the relief I feel at having a reason to hang around is unexpected.

  “Well, the no anal leakage seems like a good place to start.”

  Holley snorts. “Foundation,” she says. “It’s all about the foundation.”

  A small laugh mixed with a sigh escapes my throat. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about the woman. Do you feel like hanging around to tell me?”

  “Uh…sure, okay,” she agrees, and an odd, relief-filled sensation fills my chest. “I actually have the folder right here.” She bends down to dig in her bag. “Let’s see. Who’s the lucky lady?”

  I start a drumroll on the table as she sets the folder down, and she doesn’t disappoint on the follow-through. As I come to a crescendo, she pops open the folder and points with her finger, right down at the name.

  “Rachel!” she announces playfully, like we’ve stepped onto the set of The Price is Right. “Come on down! You’re the next contestant on Bachelor Anonymoussss!”

  I chortle, putting my hands together in a golf-style clap so as not to disturb the other customers any more than we already have, and Holley’s smile grows so big it almost wraps around her face twice.

  Damn, she really is beautiful.

  “What else does your little folder say? What do I need to know about her?”

  “Well…” She hums as she pauses long enough to read. “Rachel is an outdoor enthusiast. She’s an adventurer.”

  “That’s great,” I remark with a skeptical smirk. “But that’s not her career, is it? An adventurer? I don’t want another social-media-obsessed, cackling Barbie situation.”

  She bites her lip, her green eyes dancing as she holds up a finger and scans the file some more. “Nope! She is…an elementary school teacher.”

  “The matchmaking chimp did a little better on this one, I think.”

  Holley glares at me but reads on some more. “She’s allergic to shellfish and tries to eat healthy.”

  I nod. “That sounds reasonable.”

  “But she does allow herself the occasional treat of low-calorie, high-protein frozen yogurt.”

  Holley scrunches her nose, and I have to laugh. “That seem like a red flag to you?”

  “I mean, it’s not ideal,” she answers honestly. “But there’s a lot of pressure as a woman to remain the perfect body type. Maybe she just needs a little encouragement to loosen up.”

  “We’ll see,” I say.

  Holley’s face changes slightly, but I can’t place exactly how. “We will.”

  “When will we see?”

  She looks at her phone calendar, holding up a finger for me to wait as she scrolls. “Uh, Saturday. The article highlighting Date Number One will run in this Sunday’s paper, and that will give me plenty of time to get Date Number Two’s article finished up and ready to print during the week.”

  I almost open my mouth to let her know I took the time to read last Sunday’s feature article, the one that discreetly introduced me to the world. Truthfully, I was so fucking curious to see what Holley had to say, I grabbed the paper that morning before heading to the beach for my daily water workout.

  And, let me tell you, she certainly had things to say.

  Pretty great fucking things, to be honest.

  But I probably shouldn’t read anything into that, right?

  It’
s her job to write—

  “Does that day work for you, or…?” she asks, her voice pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Um, yeah…” I pause and clear my throat. “That works. Let’s do…a four-wheeler date. At Blane Start Park. There are riding trails that lead to a great lake where we can picnic—without shellfish, of course.”

  “Of course,” she repeats, scribbling notes down on her pad. “A four-wheeler date?”

  “I’ll bring one for you to ride too. Follow us along.”

  “Uh, no thanks.” Holley nearly chokes. “I’m better off on solid ground.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Holley,” I push. “Haven’t I shown you how fun it is to challenge yourself?”

  She raises one perfectly groomed brow. “Like, when?”

  “Swimming in the ocean…riding on a motocross bike…pretending you’re a state inspector,” I remind her. “Do those ring any bells?”

  She glares at me but scribbles something else down on her pad that I assume signifies her tacit concession.

  I smile at the table, holding myself back from saying anything that would really rub it in.

  My phone buzzes on the table, and I pick it up to see who it is. It’s a message from Chloe, so I click it open to read it immediately.

  Chloe: Just got home. Will you be here soon? The attic fan is making that freaky sound again.

  I smile to myself. Normally, any kind of anxiety on Chloe’s part would send me into violent action, but that attic fan has been making the same noise since we moved in to the house. It’s not even something to fix. It’s just the sound of moving air. If that’s what has her spooked, I doubt there’s anything wrong.

  Still, I do my due diligence as a dad and cover all the bases.

  Me: I’m sure it’s fine, but lock all the doors and keep your phone with you. I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes.

  Holley’s looking at me when I finish typing, understanding in the arch of her eyebrows. “Time to go?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” I toss my napkin onto the table before standing. “How about you? You headed home?”

  “Yep.” She stands to gather her things, putting the folder on Rachel back in her bag along with her notebook. “Hopefully I’ll get some much-needed sleep.”

  “Sleep? Oh, I’ll probably just hang out in my lair,” I tease.

  She laughs. “I bet you will.”

  “And I guess I’ll see you on…”

  “Saturday,” she supplies for me. “I’ll make sure everything is ready to go and meet you at the park.”

  It feels strange, knowing I’m not going to see her for the next few days, but it makes sense. I stick out a hand for hers, and she takes it immediately. We complete a firm, sturdy handshake and then go back to standing across from each other awkwardly.

  “Be safe getting home,” I tell her quietly.

  “You too, Jake.”

  Holley

  The afternoon sun warms my shoulders as I walk from the parking lot toward the front entrance of YOLO Yoga. The door is standing open, letting some fresh air breeze through, and I step inside with my freshly dusted and disinfected pink mat tucked beneath my arm.

  The damn thing was a mess this morning when I located it in the back of the hall closet. Honestly, the last time I used it was the day before I found out Raleigh’s and my life together was a total fucking sham.

  I used to exercise every day, chasing the perfect body and energy I needed to be the kind of wife Raleigh would be proud to have on his arm at company events and the like. Surrounded by women who looked like real-life versions of The Stepford Wives, I’d been determined to at least maintain the physique that had drawn Raleigh to me in the first place.

  I can see now how toxic my whole lifestyle was—leaning so heavily into someone else’s opinion of me and hingeing my decisions about my own body on it—but when I was in it, all I could see was the outside world encroaching on our bubble.

  I didn’t want it to burst.

  Clearly, my tactic worked really well.

  Gina looks up from the front desk and smiles when she sees me. I do my best to return the gesture, but I have to admit, I feel like the failures of my life and my months-long lapse are written all over my face.

  “Holley!” she greets cheerfully. “It’s so good to see you again! How are you?”

  The tension in my smile eases a little, thanks to the fact that she isn’t pushy or forward about asking where I’ve been.

  “I’m doing pretty well, thanks. How are you?”

  “Doing great. You’re going to love today’s class. Judy always makes it fun on Wednesdays.”

  “That’s fantastic.” I smile at her simple familiarity and fond memories of Judy’s classes. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  With a little goodbye wave toward Gina, I walk past her reception desk and head through the door that leads to the large studio. Since the room is already filled with quite a few people, I find a spot closer to the back of the space and roll out my mat.

  A few of the women chat with one another, and I think I might recognize some of them, but for the sake of my sanity, I keep to myself.

  I spend the next several minutes stretching and getting ready for class before Judy walks in and greets us.

  “Good morning, everyone!”

  We all chirp our hellos back as she sets up her own mat and grabs a wire from the stereo to hook up her phone.

  As a soft melody begins to play, she leads us in our opening stretches and meditation, and then starts the routine of taking us through all of the harder poses and movements.

  Being back at yoga for the first time in almost seven months feels both refreshing and challenging, but I’m not nearly as flexible as I used to be and when asked to perform, my muscles put up a much larger protest.

  Following Judy’s lead, I push my hands into the mat and adjust my body into Downward-Facing Dog and exhale. Rapidly, along with a burst of air, I feel as though a tremendous number of burdens lift from my muscles.

  My ex-fiancé and his new wife and baby.

  The feelings of inadequacy and identity loss.

  The desertion of motivation.

  All of it leaves me in a rush, and when I take a deep, steady inhale of air back into my lungs, only a fraction of the tension that was there before comes back.

  It’s taken me a while to separate what I used to do from what I want to do. And at first, it felt like I needed to make a clean break from everything. From my neighborhood, the people I knew, the routine I’d established. It all felt rooted in Raleigh Reynolds. Not nearly enough of it felt rooted in me.

  But the time off has done me good, and I really have to say, I feel like I’m finally grasping at a whole new perspective. A fresh, invigorating outlook on my life.

  I can still be the woman I was before, with a few modifications. But I can also be better. I just have to find out exactly who I want to be now.

  The truth is, I love working out. Not during the struggle of getting back into shape—I’m not a psycho—but when I’m feeling good and challenging my body regularly, I feel energized and ready to take on the world.

  I think I’d like to feel that consistency again, but with much fewer restrictions on the rest of my life. Work out, get energized—but for the rest of it? Just let it come. I don’t want to restrict carbs or count macros or any of that bullshit, and I don’t want to focus on losing five pounds for the rest of my life.

  I want to feel healthy. Strong. Confident. But I want to be those things while also eating a fucking donut when I want to.

  My phone buzzes from its spot on the floor, and I reach over as inconspicuously as possible to glance at the screen. It’s a message from Jake, and my impulsive excitement to see what he has to say almost throws me completely off-balance.

  A few of the other class-takers notice, but they mostly pretend to mind their business as I pull the phone onto my mat and directly under my body to safely read it without falling flat on my face.

  Jake: We
irdest thing happened this morning. I almost drowned in the ocean.

  Unable to stop myself, I quickly type out a reply.

  Me: What??? Are you serious???

  My phone vibrates again almost immediately.

  Jake: Oh, wait. No, I didn’t. I got confused. That’s something you do.

  Sarcastic bastard. I snort to myself and send an equally sarcastic response back.

  Me: Pretty sure I only do that when I’m trying to save YOUR ass from drowning.

  Jake: Fair enough. How’s your morning?

  Me: I’m at yoga right now.

  Jake: You take yoga? Why is this news?

  Me: Probably because you don’t really know me. And because I haven’t been in several months. Now leave me alone so I can pay attention to my yoga instructor, Judy.

  Jake: You’re in the middle of yoga RIGHT NOW?

  When I look up, the rest of the class has moved on from Downward-Facing Dog, and I look like a lunatic still hanging out in this position.

  Shit.

  After I ignore his message so I can move into Warrior Pose, a smile crests my lips as I think about what Jake might be up to right now. By this time of morning, he’s probably on a jobsite somewhere, giving Matt and Johnny or some other crew member a hard time.

  The man likes to tease and have fun, that’s for damn sure.

  My phone vibrates on my mat again, and as much as I want to read it, I know I shouldn’t. Which is why I kick it over to my pile of stuff and settle into Camel Pose.

  From here, all I can do is count the ceiling tiles anyway. I’ll read the rest of his messages and respond when class is over.

  When Judy moves on to some of the more complicated poses like Cow Face Pose and Bakasana, it becomes startlingly clear how much my time off has impacted me.

  Especially, but not limited to, my face. I really used to be able to support myself with my arms, but hot damn, they just snapped like twigs and moved right out from under me.