“Oh, sure, I understand. Dating is a pain.”
I tried to manage a laugh, but it came out like a guffaw.
“See you around,” he said.
I focused on the TV while Brant headed to the back of the room to use the weight machines. He was a cross trainer. Of course.
I immediately took my towel and wiped down my sweaty forehead, mopping at my forehead and eyes. To hell with the mascara. The monitor was flashing my stats, and they were amazing: I’d burned 390 calories! A personal record.
My legs were on fire when I got off the bike, but I straightened my shoulders and walked briskly toward the door. No slumping out for me, even if I’d been turned down for coffee. It was only coffee. Not like I’d offered him sex. Although maybe I would have.
“Lookin’ good!” someone called.
It was Marvin, at the front counter in the exercise room.
I looked around.
“Yeah, you, Jess!”
I gave him a wave. I didn’t have a date for Brew Coffee, but I had confidence, and I was on my way to regaining my fitness.
A man coming in held the door for me and I sailed through, feeling stronger. Feeling strong.
28
On a Saturday morning, I was using clothespins to hang my black-cat leggings on a rack to air dry, because one heated dryer cycle would make them capris. Penny was by my feet snoozing.
“Well, not to brag, but I just hit the 100 mark,” Ian announced from the living room.
“A hundred what?”
“A hundred mutual likes,” he said, coming into the laundry room to show me his phone.
“So, 100 women like you and you like them back. That’s your dating pool.”
I was a little envious.
“It’s my profile pics, Mom,” he said.
“What’s so great about your photos?”
“Well, for starters, I took my shirt off—”
“What are you suggesting, Ian? That I show some skin?”
“Of course not,” Ian said. He took an end of a blanket I was trying to fold by myself. Together, we made it into a perfect square. “But I do think it’s time to think about putting up a full-body pic—with all your clothes on, obviously.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”
“Why?” Ian grabbed a handful of loose socks and helped me start sorting.
“Well, for one, I don’t want to attract the type of guy who won’t message a woman with just headshots,” I pulled at a sock, glued to a towel with static. “Two, I’m going to the gym but still not feeling so great about how I look, so why would I want to preserve this moment in time with pictures?”
I had gained at least five pounds since Bryan had moved out, maybe closer to eight pounds. The muffin top was impossible to ignore. OK, ten pounds. I did not know exactly because I still hadn’t recaptured my fitness enough to even think about approaching the scale at the Y locker room.
“What the hell?” Ian said, trying to help me sort the socks. “Why do socks never match? How can you stand doing this?”
“Everyone knows the dryer eats them,” I said, taking the socks from him and piling them into a laundry basket.
“Think about that full-body shot,” he said, running back upstairs.
A week later, Ian was messaging Hannah, mutual thumbs-up on Tinder. Her picture showed a pretty blonde, and she described herself as petite. She even showed a little skin in a beach pic. Intrigued, Ian asked her out to a movie date. Then the cold feet set in.
“Why are you so reluctant to go?” Madison said, handing him sneakers to wear instead of the Adidas sandals he had on.
“I don’t know. It’s just so much easier to text than to meet in person. I don’t know.”
“Ah, yes, the fear of putting yourself out there and risk getting hurt,” Madison said, shaking her head.
“Like you don’t have that problem?” Ian said.
“Not saying that,” Madd said. “I give you credit for going out. Me and Mom, we’d rather hide at home.”
“Hey!” I said. “Speak for yourself!”
“When’s the last date you had, Mom?”
“1980.”
Ian left early for the movie theater where he was meeting Hannah, while Madison and I sat down to argue over Netflix.
Ian texted me an hour later: “I’ve been catfished.”
“What? What is that?”
“Catfished, when someone pretends to be someone else so they can reel in a date.”
“Like an alias?”
“No, they post a picture that isn’t even them!”
“Oh no…Hannah isn’t that cute girl?”
“Mom, she said she was 5’3”. She’s as tall as me and built like a football player.”
“I’m sorry, Ian. Is she at least nice?”
“The movie hasn’t even started, and she asked me to hold her hand. Her friend dropped her off, so now I have to drive her home! What if she tries to kiss me?”
“You don’t have to kiss her.”
“She’s as big as me, Mom, she could force it. She could be a female linebacker.”
“Just leave the car running and say good night. Don’t even hug her.”
“Was that Ian?” Madison said, peeling an orange over a bowl on the couch, pausing the movie. “What’s wrong?”
“He said he’s been catfished….”
“That little bitch!”
I held out my hand out to Maddy for a wedge of orange and tossed it into my mouth.
Twenty minutes later, Ian texted me again. “It’s getting worse.”
“Are you texting during the movie? You know you’re not supposed to do that,” I said.
“I’m out in the lobby. Do you think it’s OK if I leave?”
“Oh geez, Ian, I don’t know.”
“She put her hand on my leg and squeezed it!”
Madison was leaning over my shoulder to read Ian’s texts.
“Tell him it’s OK to run, Mom,” Madison said heatedly. “Hannah, if that’s even her real name, deliberately misled him. Tell him to run.”
“If it’s that bad, then yes, go ahead, but tell her you’re leaving,” I texted Ian.
Five minutes later, another text from Ian.
“I did it. I ran to my car. I mean I literally ran through the parking lot and drove away, as if she was chasing me.”
“Did you let her know?”
“Yeah, I texted her that my sister needed a ride.”
“OK, then
