Chapter 12
Patrick
I may have had a lot of luck in my life,
but I still need to find the right woman.
~ George Best
I drop Blaire at her home, a beautiful colonial that’s more house than any one person needs. I’m guessing it’s a five or six bedroom.
“Do you want to come in?” Blaire asks.
She reaches across the car and twirls a piece of hair at my neck. It’s not the first time she’s touched me tonight.
I haven’t been touched by a woman in years. I’m not going to lie to myself. It feels nice.
I’m also not going to lie to Blaire. I softly grip her wrist, remove her hand from my neck and set it on the console.
“It was nice spending dinner with you, Blaire.”
The dazed look on her face morphs into one of near clarity.
“Is this an It’s not you, it’s me talk?”
“Mmmm.” I glance across the car. “I think so.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I like you, Patrick. A lot. I always have. But I’m a big girl. I don’t ever want to be in a lopsided romance.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair.
This. This is why I don’t date.
“I …” I search for words to help restore equilibrium.
“Hey,” Blaire says softly. “We’ve known one another for years. Our parents are good friends. Waterford is small.” She smiles at me through the darkness of the car. “We’re good.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Let me walk you to your door,” I offer.
“I’m actually fine. And, thank you. I had a lovely dinner.” She pauses. “Far better than Daisy’s night, am I right?”
I smile. “Yeah. No doubt.”
Blaire opens the car door and steps out. I watch her walk up her walkway and into her home.
Was I wrong? Should I have given this another shot? Or two?
For some reason M&M comes to mind. She’s not going to be anything more than an online acquaintance.
Friend? But I feel more kinship with her than I have with any woman I remember.
She’s fun to talk to. And she doesn’t let me off the hook.
She has no idea what I look like, what I do for a living, how I grew up.
She appreciates me for my love of books.
I did the right thing telling Blaire no. I know what I want in a relationship.
When I pull up to my duplex, Daisy’s at her door. The guy that took her out passes me on the walkway. I have to step onto the grass to make room for him to get by. I turn and glance at his car. His mom is waiting patiently in the front seat of his Beemer.
Daisy’s fumbling with her keys by the time I step onto the porch.
“Don’t,” she says, not even turning to look me in the eyes.
A catalog of comments flashes through my brain.
They say you can watch how a boy treats his mom to see how he’ll treat you. You really got to test that theory tonight …
Or … Last time I needed a chaperone was sophomore homecoming …
Or … Looks like she called shotgun.
But, to my credit, I keep my mouth shut.
“Okay,” I say. “I won’t.”
Daisy glances over at me, her brow scrunched and her eyes slightly narrowed.
“Good night, Patrick,” she says, without any bite to her words.
She opens the door and steps inside. I watch her go until the door snicks shut and her deadbolt slides into place.
Why does Daisy silently slipping into her side of our house twist me up inside—while watching Blaire didn’t even stir up a flicker? I don’t want to unpack that tonight.
I change out of my slacks and dress shirt and tug on some old pajama bottoms and my favorite T-shirt, which is nearly threadbare.
I’m not tired, so I turn on the TV and try to watch a show.
I can’t focus. I pad upstairs, grab the book I’m reading and lean back on my headboard.
I try to reread the same page three times before giving up.
Between my date with Blaire and that interaction with Daisy, I need to talk to someone who seems to get me. I set my book on the side table, walk back downstairs, pull my laptop off the counter and settle on my couch.
I open my email and immediately smile. M&M wrote to me, and it was only a few minutes ago. She doesn’t even start with a Dear BTTP. She launches right in.
So … I went on a date tonight. And to say it was a disaster would be an understatement. I don’t know why I’m writing to you about this. If it’s outside the bounds of whatever we’re doing here, just tell me. I’ll get back to sharing about books. Or we can just leave it at “I love your podcast.”
Maybe I shouldn’t write emails immediately after coming home from dates. Probably a good life lesson.
- M&M
(which could stand for Mortification and Mistakes tonight)
I chuckle. Her wit is delightful and quick—like Daisy’s—but without the sharp edges or underlying grudge.
I’m glad you wrote. I think we left the “just talk about books” rule a few emails ago. Write about your bad date. I obviously won’t ever meet him, so this is a great place to vent.
I went on a date too. Must be in the air.
- BTTP
Her response is nearly immediate.
Was your date good?
Was it good? Hmmm. It wasn’t exactly bad. Just … not right.
She was nice. Parent-approved. Checks all the boxes.
- BTTP
Parent approved? That sounds so lame.
M&M doesn’t seem to care.
Forgive me for reading between the lines, but it sounds like she wasn't your type. Am I wrong? Maybe I’m projecting after living through one of the top 100 worst dates on the planet.
- M&M
I’m so curious about what he did. I almost tell her about Daisy’s pathetic date, but I don’t want to drag that into my conversation with M&M.
My date was not my type. We agreed it would be our only date.
- BTTP
My email pings a few moments later.
Dating is hard. I’m thinking the characters in Pride & Prejudice had it so much easier. Courtship, arranged marriage … None of the hassles of modern dating. Though, I did agree to this date because it was arranged by someone I know.
It felt like he was mentally somewhere else the whole time.
- M&M
Just like Daisy’s date. That guy could not keep his phone in his pocket.
So, you’re telling me you’d rather be randomly fixed up in an 1800s arranged marriage than to have the free will you have today?
Also, what is it with men who can’t pay attention to their dates? I witnessed that tonight too. A man so preoccupied he could have been eating alone. When I’m with someone, they get my undivided attention. That’s the bare minimum.
- BTTP
I almost reached across to grab that man’s phone, but then his mom told him to put it down.
I bet Daisy thinks I’m going to rib her about what she lived through tonight.
I might when it’s in the distant past—if she’s really over it then.
Otherwise, I have my limits when it comes to banter.
A topic that feels vulnerable to her is not an option.
I’ll keep that bare minimum in mind if I go on another date.
- M&M
I can’t help but ask. Maybe it will make her laugh at what sounds like an otherwise difficult night.
With him?
She responds:
Ha! Definitely not him.
I smile. We change the subject from dating and start discussing our current reads. When she tells me she’s getting tired, I send her one last email.
Goodnight, M&M. Sweet dreams.
I shut the laptop, but the grin she put on my face stays with me the rest of the night.