she said. ‘ Your average span of time between boyfriends is 13.4 months. That means& ‘ She clattered away until she pulled up a new report. ‘ You’ ve been single as an adult 150 percent more than you’ ve been with someone.’
Well.
Isn’ t that something?
I cringed to think how almost half a year had already passed since Robert dumped me and yet I’ d made no progress at all toward finding someone new. Granted, I’ d been busy. First, there was all that TV to watch. Then the list to do. But still, I read all the time about celebrities walking down the aisle when the ink is barely dry on reports of how their last affair ended. It just wasn’ t fair.
I want marriage! I want kids! I thought bitterly as I showered the morning of my blind date. Other people seemed to tumble into husbands and children as if they were God-given rights and not the Herculean achievements I seemed to find them to be. It’ s not as if I were being greedy-I wanted only one husband. Some people my age had already had two or three. Probably one of them was supposed to be mine. They probably had my kids, too.
There were times among my eight men (numbers three and seven) I thought I might have found the right guy. Provided we could work out a few kinks. If only he could manage to be more (a) committed, (b) employed, (c) willing to stop that habit of picking his toenail and flicking it on the carpet. If only I could manage to be more of whatever that mystery thing is that men want that apparently-at least for the long haul-I don’ t have.
Ah, well, this shower sure feels like heaven. Nothing like steamy water on a rainy January morning to take the chill out of the bones. Even though I’ d pay for it later. My apartment has only the one hot-water tank. When it’ s out, it’ s out.
Please let him like me. I’ d been on plenty of setup dates before, but they were usually less deliberate than tonight’ s affair. A friend would have a party or a get-together at a bar and invite me as well as the potential love interest. There might be a bit of prodding on the part of the hostess to generate enthusiasm, but overall we were free to pretend we didn’ t know it was a setup if we didn’ t click.
Please let us click tonight.
There’ d be no problem with the clicking on my side. I was clicking all over the place just thinking about that photo of him.
Which was why I was fretting. Sebastian seemed the sort of man who had women hanging over him. He probably had to beat them off with sticks. He certainly didn’ t have on average 13.4 months between lovers as I did. More like 13.4 minutes, I’ d guess. Lucky for me there wasn’ t an interview process to dating-that I didn’ t have to bring a resume outlining my pitiful love life. Imagine Sebastian getting a peek at that!
‘ So, June,’ he’ d no doubt say, peering at me from across the dinner table, ‘ this looks good. But tell me, what were you doing with that time between Jason and Mark? It shows here that you broke it off with Jason in August 1999-finally accepted that he was all talk and no action-yet I show a three-year gap before you took up with another man.’
‘ Was it three years? Gosh, I hadn’ t realized it was so long& .’
‘ Yes, you see that big hole right here on your resume?’
‘ Now that you mention it, that is quite a long break.’
‘ Maybe you were focusing on your career at the time?’ he might supply helpfully. ‘ Or traveling the globe? Learning a new skill?’
I’ d shake my head woefully.
‘ Being selective, then? Going on date after date to make sure you found someone deserving of your love?’
Ooh, that one sounded good-and worth an enthusiastic nod. Even if it was a lie.
Truth was& I had no idea what the truth was. Only that I had a habit of burrowing like a groundhog any time a relationship failed. I didn’ t have that ability to dust myself off and try, try again. The only thing that brought me out of the hole was a soul brave enough to reach in and grab me.
It was crazy to expect that a man Susan found on the Internet might be the one to do that. For crying out loud, I was only going on this blind date to fulfill another person’ s wish list. I knew nothing about him other than what he wrote in his profile.
Yet that morning in the shower, as if guided by forces outside of me, I found myself digging through my pile of abandoned beauty products to find a loofah. If by chance things did click, I decided, there was no sense in scaring him off with rough elbows and knees.
I WAS TEN minutes late getting to Book Soup and far more frazzled than I’ d expected to be.
Besides the time I’ d spent primping and fretting over what was proper attire for a book signing, there was Lizbeth’ s department meeting that ran over.
The meeting had been ready to wrap at five o’ clock. Usually we’ d be bolting for the door, but then Brie said leadingly, ‘ Hey, June, why don’ t you tell us about that great idea you had for an event?’
I held back a scowl. Brie’ s notion of ‘ having my back’ apparently meant throwing me unprepared to the wolves, the first to my carcass being Martucci. ‘ This ought to be good,’ he stage-whispered to Greg, and then grandly set the papers he’ d gathered back down to enjoy the show.
The rest of them looked my way. June is going to trot out another idea even as her Friends of Rideshare program lies flopping and gasping for air like a dying fish?
It would have been nice if Brie had warned me she was going to do this. I’ d have preferred to have charts or stats or a write-up or something besides me. Still& the idea of completing two tasks in one day spurred me on.
‘ My idea,’ I said, trying to put some punch in my delivery, ‘ is that we do a gas giveaway. Gas prices are hitting record levels everywhere. So I thought we could let people know that L.A. Rideshare is rewarding people who carpool by paying for their gas when they fill up. The media would eat it up.’
‘ Interesting. The problem,’ Lizbeth said slowly, ‘ is the same one we always have. Funding. Who’ d pay for this gas?’
‘ A sponsor. It wouldn’ t cost that much. We wouldn’ t give gas to every carpooler. We’ d let them know we were out there& then sneak up on them at the pumps. Say, ‘ Surprise! We’ re paying for your gas!’
‘ If we’ re sneaking, then how would the media know?’ Martucci asked.
‘ We’ d tip them off ahead of time,’ I replied smugly, pleased that I had an answer and therefore wasn’ t giving him the pleasure of tripping me up. ‘ We’ d just tell them to keep the locations a secret from the public.’
‘ It certainly sounds& interesting,’ Lizbeth said. ‘ And I admire your initiative in bringing it up here today. Unfortunately, I don’ t believe that’ s the direction we should be going. No, we should be putting our energies behind partnering with a traffic reporter. By the way,’ she purred, ‘ have you contacted Troy Jones?’
My mind flashed to the box sitting on my desk filled with Marissa’ s yearbooks, along with a note from the traffic reporter in question: Hope this helps. I hadn’ t worked up the stomach to dig through them yet, although
