Do you really want to do this later,it seems to ask,when you’d rather be watching Top Chef? Do you want to be up past your usual bedtime updating files when you could get it out of the way right now?
Well, no, if I’m being honest. I’d rathernotdo it later.
I’d rather knock out the files now so once I get home, I can cuddle in my bed with a mug of golden milk and watch talented chefs create masterpieces in the kitchen.“Your version of porn,”Fiona told me once,“doesn’t involve a hot, naked man. It’s a guy in a chef’s coat sweating buckets in the kitchen.”
While I love watching all sorts of cooking shows, I wouldn’t consider them porn. And if I had to choose a man to hook up with, he wouldn’t be all sweaty and covered in food.
No. He’d have curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes and strong features that soften when he risks a rare smile?—
Wait.
Why am I thinking about him? And after so long…
“That reminds me,” Hailey says, jerking me away from the memory of a man I shouldn’t still think about. “My fiancé works with this guy. His name is Winston, and he loves food—” She laughs. “That doesn’t sound right. What I mean is, he’s a foodie, like you. He’s really nice, good-looking, single…”
Oh, no.
Hailey means well. Everyone who thinks they know the perfect person for me to date does. They’re all convinced if I just meet therightguy, it’ll end my years of singlehood.
What they don’t know, because I don’t tell them, is it’s not that Ican’tget a date. I get asked out plenty—at the grocery store, the farmers market, the gym—but I never accept.
Sometimes I consider it, but then the doubting voice in the back of my head reminds me,Sure, he’s interested now. When he doesn’t really know you. But what about later, once he learns the truth? Is it worth it when disappointment is inevitable?
Logically, I know that’s not true. That not every man would care. But I can’t seem to make myself take the risk. It’s just easier—safer, really—staying single.
And I like my life the way it is, anyway. I have a good job. A cute apartment. Friends. Parents who love me. Isn’t that more than enough?
Belatedly, I realize Hailey’s still waiting for my response. “Sorry,” I blurt. “I’m just distracted today. Thanks for thinking of me, but I’m not really looking to date right now.”
The direction of the conversation decides the work debate for me.
“Actually,” I add, pushing up from my chair, “I have to meet someone, so I’m going to finish my work later.” I grab my purse, laptop bag, and coat. A quick glance at my watch shows it’s beenfive minutes since Jenna’s last text. “I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
Hailey stares at me for a second. A flicker of sympathy moves across her face. “Sorry, Bea. I wasn’t trying to push him on you. I just thought, since you’re both single…”
I give her a bright smile. “It’s fine. Really.” Detouring past her desk, I pat her shoulder reassuringly. “I appreciate you asking. And if I change my mind about dating, I’ll let you know.”
Will I ever change my mind about dating?I ask myself as I head towards the elevator.
The alternative doesn’t seem terribly appealing.
Yes, I’m happy with things as they are right now. But does that mean I want to spend the rest of my life single? What if I want to buy a house? Have a baby? I could do both on my own, but would Iwantto?
I know women who are happily single and doing it all by themselves. Like Fannie, one of the psychiatrists on staff—she lives in a lovely little house out in Kensington and has an adorable three-year-old son that she had thanks to a sperm donor.
In theory, I could do the same thing.
Well. If I made more money, that is. Because houses in the DC area areexpensive. And so is having a baby.
“We could lend you money for a house,”my parents offered during my last visit to Pittsburgh.“Real estate prices are so much more affordable around here. And there are some great family-friendly neighborhoods. Just something to think about.”
But I don’t want to buy a house in Pittsburgh. And as much as I support women raising children on their own, it’s not for me. If I have a baby—emphasis on the if—I don’t want to do it by myself. I would want a partner. Not just a partner, but a man I love.
The elevator dings, the sudden sound jolting me back to the present. Hurrying inside, I press the button for the second floor while trying to shove wistful thoughts of houses and hypothetical children aside.
As the elevator descends, I remind myself that I’m only thirty-three. Not over the hill yet, despite the implications my grandmother makes every Christmas as she bemoans her lack of great-grandchildren.
“You’re so pretty,” she likes to tell me.“With that beautiful blonde hair and your cute little figure. You could find a nice man if you wanted to. And then I could have great-grandchildren before I die.”
