A sign I could be victorious once more.
8
ALIA
Sitting on my couch in pajamas that have seen better days, I feel exactly like a dog who’s accidentally consumed chocolate. I can barely focus on any of the drama that’s unfolding on my TV when a message pops up on my phone. It’s from the man I went on a date with yesterday.
Jarrod.B:
Hey, it was nice to meet you. You seem nice but I think we want different things.
He said “nice” twice, like there was no other way to describe me. Just. . . nice. Meh. Boring. Simple. Dull.Nice.
And if by “different things” he means I would have preferred he speak with me instead of the lady seated at the tablenext to us, then yes, we do want different things. My first date since the divorce—no, my first dateever—and it was a flaming disaster.
I’d been nervous but he was happy to fill the silence and tell me all about himself. A food critic, he had an opinion abouteverythingon the menu and hadn’t been shy about voicing his disapproval about the extra brown sugar I’d asked for my latte. When he started chatting about some big restaurant opening, the woman beside us gasped, turning to interrupt his monologue. That was it. Their eyes met and, for the next hour, I watched my date enjoy himself with someone else.
I sip my lemon soda and rip open a packet of jalapeño chips, using chopsticks to fish them out one by one. It is the only way I can slow down my rate of consumption. Besides, I need to make this bag last while I drown my sorrows by binge-watching reality television. My romantic life may be a dumpster fire, but at least it isn’t televised. Small mercies.
The gorgeous women on the screen giggle and scope out their competition. They’re all vying for the same man—a hunky farmer who looks like a Hemsworth brother.
I crunch down on the spicy chips, wishing Irsia was watching as well so we could place bets on who’d get asked to the first round of dates. But she has an early day for another photoshoot and is already in bed, leaving me alone with my thoughts, none of which make sense anymore. Firstly, I’m more invested than I should be in this shy Canadian farmer falling in love with a nerdy teacher. Secondly, I’m replaying Irsia’s comment from two days ago: pick a gentleman.
In short, any man who, unlike Namik, has a basic sense of decency. Or someone who, unlike my date, would not turn his attention to another woman at the slightest opportunity.
The hunky farmer on screen discusses his childhood and I’m about ready to pause the show when he mentions that his favorite sport is a quasi-religion in Canada. Hockey.
Inevitably, my thoughts veer toward green eyes and an incorrigible grin that made me feel so many things in a short time.
Callum is a gentleman. He’s flirtatious, sure, but a gentleman nonetheless. I remember how, even when he made me blush, he gave me space when I hesitated. I recall I’d wished out loud for a kiss. Any other man might’ve taken that as an invitation, but he stopped to ask for consent.
But the biggest green flag? His apology to me when he realized why I was annoyed. He didn’t brush it off or blame me for assuming he was Theo.
He brought up being friends. But did he mean it?
Namik and his friends always used the right words. I found out later how little of what they showed me was real. But Cal seemed genuine. Maybe. . .
My gaze shifts to the farmer on screen and I tune in to what he’s saying, annoyed when he chooses someone else, not the nerdy teacher, for the date.
“She only likes your attention,” I wail, stuffing my face with the chips, having forgone the chopsticks in favor of speed. I bite down extra hard as a way to express my hate that he’s picking the hot, mean girl.
One look at her stunning face makes me lean over to check my reflection in the glass coffee table. I’m. . . average. What’re the chances Cal would go for a girl like me?
I heard what those ladies at Block on Wood said. Some—okay,many—were ‘friendly’ with him. Their opinions were all positive. I saw how women at the café turned to stare at him, even if he didn’t notice them while speaking with me. His attention never wavered and I suspect one of the many reasons women from his past want to return for seconds is this. He treats people well and makes them feel special and worthy of his time. Who wouldn’t like that?
He is clearly someone who’s been around the block. Many,manytimes, if Rohan’s stories are to be believed. I wonder if he’d consider helping me tiptoe around the block myself.
Okay, a block feels like a lot. Maybe just until the end of the yard. That’ll be a good enough start.
My palm itches to pick up the phone beside me.
Give it a chance, Aloo.
Ah, crap, fiiiiiine! I throw my hands up dramatically and lean over to grab it. Before I can overthink things or talk myself out of it, I type out a short message and press send.
I stare. And now, I wait.
9
