Saar checks her watch. “You better; your car is here in twenty minutes.”
“What car? I thought I was meeting him there.”
“Yes, yes, but don’t you think we would let you traipse around on the subway. The car is my treat, and before you protest, you can pay me in unlimited lattes.”
“You already drink lattes for free.” But for once, I’m grateful for her insistence on making my life easier.
“See? I owe you. Enjoy yourself.”
Okay. Fuck it. It’s been a pretty good day so far, so let’s ride the wave.
My good day took a downward trajectory about five minutes into the date.
Ed may be a perfectly eligible bachelor on paper—the looks, the status, the career—but there is no chemistry between us.
“Aren’t you glad you let me choose the wine?” He takes a sip of the super-expensive Sauvignon.
I wet my lips. The wine is as acidic as my sourness over his earlier comment that Zinfandel is too common a wine for the occasion.
I should have insisted, but I told myself that foregoing my typical choice is part of the novel, new journey in this new phase of my life.
Perhaps he’s as nervous as I am. Or he’s a selfish asshole who simply doesn’t care about my preferences. I don’t mind dominant, but both parties need to draw satisfaction from it.
The only thing I’m drawing out right now is time, stretching the silence, hoping he’s vain enough to forget his own question.
No such luck. He stares at me with expectation. And the worst part? Based on his smug expression, he expects me to praise his wine selection.
“It’s… smooth.” I finally find a word that hopefully doesn’t offend his choice. “I still prefer Zinfandel,” I murmur.
“But I’m changing your mind on that one.”
Again, he keeps his gaze on me, expecting me to… what? Agree with him? God help me with this conversation. I should just shut up and praise his choices? Is that what he truly expects?
“Sure,” I lie, with the brightest and most pretentious smile known to man.
He nods with a self-confident smirk, satisfied.
Read the room, asshole.
How can he not see or feel I’m faking it? We don’t know each other, and yes, I’m being morepolite than he deserves, but he can’t bethatself-absorbed.
Ed digs into his steak—and who drinks white with red meat?—chewing with such vigor I avert my gaze to my dish.
My pasta is delicious, but I can’t focus on savoring it because I’m resisting pulling out my phone and texting Saar.
If I have her rescue me from this date, it would be a premature capitulation. She went to so much effort organizing this, and seems even more excited than me. I don’t want to disappoint her.
I’ll sit through this, focusing on the positive. I’m out on a date. It’s not perfect, but at least I’m practicing.
The restaurant is amazing. It’s expensive, but nothing here makes me feel uncomfortable. I’m sure Saar suggested it.
The food is good, and yes, the company is lacking, but it’s not that bad.
Chewing, Ed points his knife at me. “We landed a new client this week. This will…”
I tune his words out. Unfortunately, I can’t tune out the open-mouth mastication he practices while talking about his work.
Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe.
