“Oh my God… what am I doing here?” I blurt.
“Finding a man,” Amanda reminds me with a cheeky grin.
“I have cats,” I deadpan. Is my skirt too short? Is the zit on my forehead bulging through my concealer?
Amanda takes my hand in hers because I keep fidgeting. “You look fantastic, and your zit’s still incognito.” Though I might sweat off three layers of spackle-like concealer, I’m more likely to hyperventilate first.
A line forms behind us. The sun hasn’t quite set and it’s a balmy eighty degrees. I’m creating quite the sauna under my clothing. Amanda’s fantastic “speed dating” idea is probably going to take me down. If they don’t open the doors soon, I am going to melt into a pool of goo.
Things are fine. I have a beautiful Colonial downtown, a walk from the law office where I am working toward a well-deserved partnership. My friend base is solid, I actually use my gym membership, and I get to spend summers in Europe visiting family.
Aloud, I realize, “I don’t need a man. I’m happy.”
She groans as if I am a child refusing a nap. “At last Friday’s women’s wine group, you mentioned ‘getting back on the saddle,’ so…”
“I don’t really think I put it that way.” Pinot and PMS are my kryptonite. I vaguely remember blubbering that I am a “dating celibate.”
Oh my God… I can’t do this.
Amanda is a dating savant. I feel pathetic and panicked. I’m not ready to subscribe to a relationship that might end in heartbreak. Again. I am finally happy. Again. Sometimes lonely, but happy.
I can’t look at the men in line behind us. Soon, I’ll be meeting them at candlelit tables, where we’ll be expected to rely on eight minutes of small talk as a gage for a follow up date.
This realization freezes in my chest. I gasp, “I can’t do this,” and turn on my heels. Amanda beseeches, “Come on, Jen.”
I feel frantic. In my hasty exit, I plow into the front door of DaVince’s, which the maître d’ has kindly opened. I feel the zit on my forehead scream as it makes contact with mahogany. The impact is harder than I expect and sends me reeling backward. “Oh, God, I’m going to fall,” flies through my mind, but I feel hands grab my waist as I start sinking to the ground. I break a heel in the process.
When my head stops spinning, I stand there lopsided now. I look up at the gentleman, who appears concerned, but is smiling in reassurance. “Are you okay?” He hunkers a little, to meet my eyes. “I’m a doctor. Your pupils look fine, but your forehead’s starting to swell.”
“It’s a zit,” I blurt, feeling heat wash over my cheeks. I hear Amanda snicker.
He chuckles and holds the door open for Amanda and me, watching me with careful interest.
She catches my eye quizzically. “Aren’t we leaving?”
I glance toward the gentleman waiting patiently at the door, then grin at my friend. “No. I’m good.”
***
Suzanne Marie Calvin-Yim is a late-in-life student, majoring in English with a minor in Secondary Education. A seasoned wearer of many hats, she has worked as a waitress, bank teller, paralegal, and a Certified Nurse Aide, in addition to having homeschooled her son and daughter. She has three published romance novels with Amber Quill Press, and has freelanced for The Colorado Springs Independent and Out Front Colorado. Suzanne lives in Colorado Springs with her wife, Juli, her adult son and daughter, and Lily the human Schnauzer. Her hobbies include swimming, hiking, biking, reading, watching British films, and thinking reflectively. Currently, she is working on two novels and a collection of short stories.
