She made her way to the cafe. Before reaching for the door, she stopped to take a deep breath. Her apprehension confused her. Wasn’t this supposed to be fun? If she could go back in time and tell her middle school self that in less than ten years, apps would exist that enabled her to go on a date-a-night (heck, two dates-a-night), she would have been overjoyed. But now it felt like a chore.
She was early, she noted, checking her phone. All the better.
“Mmm, can I have that table?” she asked the host, spotting a seat with flattering lighting and good view of the door. That way, she could beeline for the bathroom if her date showed up with a neck tattoo or looking pregnant with twins.
He was none of those things. He looked just like he did in his profile pictures, a full head of sideswept hair, bright eyes, and slight stubble scattered over a broad jaw. She waved him over.
“You aren’t a 60-year-old with a beer belly! I think we’re off to a good start.” She chuckled. She had thought-it-up when waiting for him and decided it was a good opener.
“And you’re actually a woman!” he chuckled.
“Well, you can’t be so sure about that,” she started. “I mean, how someone identifies can’t always be observed.”
Shit, shit! He had barely sat down and she was getting on identity politics. That could be a huge turnoff to some dudes. But maybe she didn’t want those dudes.
“Oh, right. Should I ask you your preferred pronouns?”
“Well, I guess you already know that from my profile,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “Let’s get some drinks.”
“That bored, already?”
“No! No, not at all. Just…anxious.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smiled, causing the edges of his eyes to crinkle.
“Cute,” she thought. The waitress walked over and they placed their orders.
The conversation went down a familiar path – origin stories, careers, hobbies.
“So, how long has it been since you last relationship?” he asked.
She scowled.
“Are you supposed to ask that on a first date?”
“I don’t see why not. I guess there is some taboo surrounding talk about exes. But, I find it revealing.”
“It’s been about a year. It wasn’t terrible. We were just very different in ways that couldn’t easily be reconciled. For example, he liked to spend his free time pleasure-seeking.”
“Pleasure seeking?”
“Yeah. You know, being entertained, socializing. Nothing too hedonistic. But, I would rather spend it on self-improvement or personal projects. Something where, at the end of the day, you can look and note measurable progress.”
“Oh, I’m like that, too. I’ll never understand how people can spend their weekends lying by a pool or watching movies.”
“Exactly!”
She was careful not to drink too fast. She had ordered tequila-soda to assist in that. Also, it looked chic.
“Most weekends I’m working. Or doing stuff that I don’t have time to do during the week because I’m working,” he elaborated.
“Man, I know. I have a to-do list and I swear I’ll be 90 and that list will still have items unchecked.”
“Yeah! There’s just so much. But whatever free time I do have, I spend building an addition to my house.”
“You’re building onto your house?”
“Well, it’s like a sunroom. Nothing too big. It’s a work in progress. I started maybe a year ago and it still looks like a pile of boards.”
“That’s really cool. What made you decide to attempt it yourself as opposed to hiring it done?”
“Well, I actually do enjoy construction projects. The cost savings is an added perk, for sure. But if it wasn’t something I was into, I would definitely contract it out. Especially considering how much time it takes.”
“I used to love this book, called Fern Flat, about a poor family that lived in a tiny house and as the children got older they each rummaged enough materials to build their own room. So, in the end the house was a giant maze of disjointed rooms of inconsistent styles.”
“Oh my gosh! I love that book!”
“You know it?”
“Yeah! And each of their rooms kind of reflected their personalities and the children would build their rooms closest to the siblings they got along with and farthest from the siblings that they didn’t like.”
“Right, right!”
“God, that was good. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else who read that.”
“Neither have I! Wow. That’s so neat. My mom was always into home-improvement projects. But, my dad wasn’t. So that kind of put a damper on things.”
“Maybe I should date your mom.”
“Yeah, if you like seventy-year old women.”
“Maybe. Does she know how to fix bikes?”
“Not to my knowledge. Why?”
“Oh, a buddy of mine just started a non-profit that accepts bike donations and refurbishes them for unprivileged youth. I said I would help, but it is a bit outside my wheelhouse.”
“Do you bike?”
“Occasionally I go out and find a trail. Do you?”
“No, but I’ve wanted to try. Mountain biking, that is. Is it dangerous?”
“No, not if you have the right equipment. And start with an easy trail. If you want, I can take you sometime.”
“That would be great!”
“How about next weekend?’
“I think that will work.”
“Here, give me your number. I’ll see if my buddy has a bike that will fit you.”
At home, she collapsed on her bed and closed her eyes. That went well. Not nearly as painful as she had expected. She reached for her planner and flipped to the current week.
She found the box for the following weekend penciled-in “Biking.”
“Should I text him tonight?” she wondered. “Maybe something polite, like ‘It was nice to meet you.’ Or ‘Thanks for coming out. It was good to chat.’” But, before she could decide, she drifted to sleep.
By the next Friday, she hadn’t heard from him. Saturday came around and still nothing. Her sister needed help moving into her new apartment, so she was glad that she wasn’t forced to choose between the two. But she couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe he had lost her number and she should re-send it to him? Or maybe he took her insistence on paying for her part of the meal as an indication of disinterest.
Another week passed without any communications. She considered sending him a message. Something casual like “hey, how have you been?” But, work was busy. A client was had launched a new litigation. Another client submitted a request for a pitch. And her inbox on the app was replete with message from other people that she had yet to reply to.
“Maybe next weekend,” she thought.
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