Someone matched with me! On like, my first try! Okay, so there were probably like twenty tries altogether, but he picked me!
The app wants me to make some sort of selection; apparently this guy already wants a date. I toss my hair over my shoulder because check me out, that wasn’t even that hard. I squint my eyes until I make out the word “coffee.” Yes. Coffee date. Good. I tap the box, then chooseSaturday at two o’clock. Middle of the day, no expectations. Easy peasy.
Pshaw. I don’t know what everyone is complaining about. Dating in New York City is a breeze!
The word “confirmed” pops up on my screen, and I let out a little whoop. I grab another shot, head back to my table, and hold my phone victoriously over my head. “Guys! I made a date!”
Nick, Gemma, and our new friends all cheer for me like I just won an Academy Award.
I don’t remember much after that.
Friday rolls by in a blur of a vomit-fueled haze. Because my friends are amazing, coffee and a greasy breakfast sandwich show up at my door at one o’clock in the afternoon, right around the time I manage to scrape myself off the bathroom floor.
I take the delivered goods from a guy who looks way too smug about this whole situation, if you ask me, and make a mental note to thank Nick and Harley the next time I can make my eyes focus on a phone screen. I seriously don’t deserve them.
Even though it’s April and not that cold, I curl up on the couch under my favorite soft blanket, slowly taking a few bites of the sandwich, making sure it’s going to stay in place before I chow down on the rest of it. “I’m too old for this shit,” I tell my philodendron, which doesn’t offer even one kind word of commiseration.
And with that blank stare from my plant, with a full belly and under the comfort of my blanket, I finally let the sadness wash over me.Not just disappointment or anger but pure, unfiltered sadness. I’m certainly no stranger to feeling worthless—not meeting expectations was one of my few constants growing up—but getting fired came out of nowhere. I didn’t have time to mentally prepare for the onslaught of emotions. And all those emotions wash over me now, like some kind of fucked-up tsunami.
I spend the rest of the day on the couch, chugging water and mainlining saltines, Netflix and a wad of tissues to stem my tears my only company. Around eight that night, I manage to drag myself off the couch and into a shower. I feel almost like a real live human being when I step out of the steam and into my pajamas.
I’m on my way to sleep when my phone dings with an alert.
Reminder: Coffee tomorrow at 2:00. Gran Caffé de Martini.
I don’t know whether to be super impressed with myself for setting a reminder or super annoyed I made a date in the first place. I think it’s a little bit of both. I consider canceling, pretty sure “I was shit-faced when I made this date” is a justifiable enough excuse. But seriously, it has been way too long and the date is already set. If nothing else, it’ll prevent me from spending the whole day wallowing. “Suck it up, Sadie. One date won’t kill you.”
I could be officially losing it, but I’m pretty sure the dracaena in the corner of my room nods in agreement.
Three
I’m most definitelyrunning late for this date, but why the fuck did I match myself with some guy in Brooklyn? Oh yeah, because I happened to be drunk off my ass in Brooklyn at the time. Idiot. I finally manage to find the café and am at least partially mollified because it’s cute as hell. The walls are a robin’s-egg blue, and there’s a mural of flowers splashed on the brick.
“All right, Park Slope, you might be worth the hour travel time.” Stepping into the café, I look around for a hot, well-dressed man, because even if I can’t remember what this guy looks like, I most definitely have a type. I stroll to the back of the small space, then back outside to the patio, then back inside, checking all corners of the shop.
“Sadie?”
I hold in the groan as I turn to my left. Drunk me must have been real drunk.
But here we are. I put on a bright smile and cross over to the literal antithesis of every guy I’ve ever dated.
His eyes are hidden by black plastic glasses that probably don’t even contain prescription lenses. Between those and his unruly dark curly hair, only a sliver of his so-pale-he-probably-hasn’t-been-outside-in-months face is visible. He’s wearing ripped jeans and old Converse and, dear god, aLord of the RingsT-shirt.
And he doesn’t even stand as I make my way over to the table, taking the time to swish my totally first-date-appropriate floral flowy skirt.
“Did you want to grab a drink first?” Still not bothering to stand and greet me, he gestures toward the counter.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I spin on my heel and sashay to the register, making sure he can fully appreciate how much effort some of us actually put into our appearance for this so-called first date. And I mean, I’m certainly cool with paying for my own coffee, but we could’ve at least had an introductory hug first.
Whatever. I order my iced vanilla latte and take it back to the small marble table. After spending an hour trekking out here, I sure as hell am not going to head home in under five minutes. And I’m even surer as hell not leaving without coffee first.
I slip into the open chair and hold out my hand. Not going to lie, I definitely do not remember this guy’s name, but I’m finding it difficult to care much at this point. “Nice to officially meet you.”
His hand envelops mine, shaking firmly. “It’s Jack, Jack Thomas.”
“Jack.” At least he’s cool enough to not shame me for forgetting. “Sadie Green.”
“Yes, I know.” He reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a file folder. “So why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”
