Chapter 8 #2
He laughs. “It’s concerning that this surprises you.”
“Maybe I’m just not used to it.”
He holds my gaze for a beat, but I have to look away. Because it’s another admission I didn’t mean to make. And one that tells
him a little more about me than I want it to.
He picks up a plate and hands it to me. “After you.”
I load up a plate—naan, samosa, bhel puri, keema matar, along with a small bowl of something called dal—like lentil soup,
maybe?—and we sit down on the floor in the living room, food on the coffee table, laptop between us.
“I can’t believe you’ve been texting my daughter about my love life,” I say, my mouth full of naan.
“She’s hilarious,” he says. “And she loves you like crazy.”
“She is. And I love her too.” I smile. “Do you have kids?”
“I’ve got two daughters,” he says. “Zoey and Ava. Pretty much grown now. They don’t need me for anything until a sink breaks
or they forget to get the oil changed in their cars.” He laughs. “And stop changing the subject.”
“Was it that obvious?” I grin. “This dating app is not my favorite topic.”
“I promised I wouldn’t let your first date be a dud, so—” He touches a key on the laptop and it comes to life.
“Bachelor number one,” he says, affecting a game-show announcer voice. “Meet Tom. Tom is a data analyst at a software engineering
company.”
“Hmm. I don’t think I could hold a conversation with Tom.”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Sorry.” I nod. “Please continue.”
“Tom loves to play racquetball, go to museums, and play Pokémon GO.”
I stare at him. “Please tell me this is not the best you have for me.”
He smirks. “You actually have lots of interest on this app.”
“I do?” My eyes go wide.
“You can’t be surprised,” he says.
“I can’t?”
“I mean, you know what you look like.” When he smiles, the tiniest lines crease at the edges of his eyes, and somehow they
make him even handsomer.
I shove another bite in my mouth because, again, I don’t know how to respond. John wasn’t the complimenting type. If he thought
I was pretty, he rarely said so, and I just assumed that’s how it was after you’d been together awhile.
I never dared to wonder because I had a whole lot to be thankful for.
“You really didn’t look at all?”
I chew the bite, then take a drink. “No. If I had, I would’ve figured out how to mute the notifications.” I take a bite of
something that had been labeled biryani, a rice dish with flavors so deep and complex, I have to pause to give it my full attention. “You’ve got to be kidding me.
This is amazing.”
“Have you tried the butter chicken?” He scoops up a bite on his fork and holds it out in my direction. It’s an innocent yet
oddly provocative move, and after I swallow my bite, I meet his eyes.
He nods toward the fork, paused in the air between us, and I lean in while he feeds it to me. The creamy flavors of the tomato
curry hit my taste buds, and I cover my mouth, nodding at Miles as if to communicate, Oh yeah, this is really good.
“Right?” he says, a satisfied smile on his face. Then he’s back at the computer. He clicks a button and another photo fills the screen. “This is Henry. Henry is an investment banker, which means he’s probably very rich—or on cocaine—”
I laugh so hard I almost spit out the rice.
“Okay, let’s stay positive and say he’s rich.” He angles his head, studying me. “I get the sense you don’t care about that,
though.”
I take a sip of wine. “I don’t. John was . . .” I catch myself. I really don’t want to talk about John, and I wish he would
stop taking up so much real estate in my mind. “Money is fine, but I’d rather be with someone I can trust.” I look over and
find Miles watching me like he’s collecting these tiny personal details I share in bits and pieces.
Miles turns his attention back to the computer. “Okay, well, Henry looks trustworthy, but you know, time will tell. No immediate red flags is all I can promise.”
I take another bite as he clicks over to a third photo. The man on the screen looks perfectly nice, if a little bland. If
I were to describe him to a sketch artist, I’d say, “A little round with a receding hairline and very dad-like features. A rounded nose and eyes that seem kind and close together.
His ears stick out a little more than average, and he’s clean shaven.”
Then I realize that description would have the sketch artist drawing practically every character from the Guess Who? kids’
game Minnie used to love to play.
“This is Roger,” he says. “My personal favorite for your first date.”
“Your favorite? Why?” I frown. Henry was the best-looking option, not Roger, but in my experience, men with money are used
to getting whatever they want.
“He seems like a decent guy,” he says. “He’s divorced with two kids—both in college—and he’s on staff with a minor league
hockey team, volunteers for a youth hockey league . . . You know, decent.”
“I don’t know anything about hockey,” I say.
“You don’t have to know anything about hockey,” he says. “But maybe he could teach you.”
I shrug noncommittally.
“Look, Claire, this is just your first date back,” he says. “You don’t want to date anyone who might be a real contender.”
“Why not?” I ask.
He turns to me. “You want to rush back into a serious relationship without seeing what’s out there?” One could argue that
I already did that once. Sometimes, in hindsight, I wonder if I was so taken with John in those early days because I so desperately
wanted independence. Not because I needed out from my grandparents’ rules, but because I didn’t want to be a burden to them
for a single second longer than I already had been.
John had a plan, and when he started to include me in it, I bought in. We were going to work at his father’s ad agency until
we could take it over. It sounded like a dream.
If Minnie hadn’t come along so early, maybe I would’ve realized how incompatible we were, but she did come along, and our
plan shifted into overdrive. I don’t regret it, but I do wonder if Miles is right—I should take all of this slow.
I’m not that girl anymore.
I narrow my eyes. “Is that what you’re doing? Seeing what’s out there?”
“No,” he says matter-of-factly. “I have a pretty good idea of what’s out there. But I’m different.”
I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “How so?”
“Because I’m never getting married again,” he says simply. Again, like he’s stating a fact.
“Never?”
“Nope.”
“Ever?”
“Been there. Don’t need to do it again.”
“Interesting.”
He scoops up a bite of butter chicken and shovels it into his mouth. “It’s really not. I had something, and then I didn’t. I’m not interested in that again. I’m perfectly content to date women I have no intention of marrying.”
“Meanwhile, you’re leaving a trail of brokenhearted women in your wake,” I conclude, fascinated by his take on relationships,
given that it’s so different from mine.
“No, they know.”
I frown in disbelief. “You tell them this before you go out with them?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty up front about it. It’s in my profile.” He clicks around on the computer and pulls up an image that would
definitely make me stop scrolling.
Miles—40s, landscape architect
Nice guy looking to have fun.
No strings. No baggage. No drama.
I pull a face. “And women go for this?”
He gives me an amused shrug. “I do okay.”
“They probably think they can change you,” I say, rolling my eyes as I focus all my attention on my plate.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s just—”
“It’s just . . . ?”
“You were married once,” I say. “So obviously you’re a guy who sees the benefit of a relationship—”
“But I’m also a guy who sees that relationships eventually end.”
“Not all relationships,” I say. “My grandparents were together for sixty years.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “No way.”
“Yeah,” I say, sadness washing over me at the realization that if they were still here, they’d be so disappointed that my
marriage ended. I feel like such a failure.
“It’s a nice sentiment, but it’s not reality for most people,” he says.
I meet his eyes. “That’s because too many people look at other people like they’re disposable. The apps make that worse. You
swipe through people the same way you shop for a new winter coat.”
He goes still and then nods slowly. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
I go back to eating, unsure how the conversation led us here. “I know I’m still a little bitter about the way my marriage
ended.” I look up at him. “But I don’t want to get so jaded that I swear off marriage forever. I have to believe there’s someone
out there who is honest and kind and good.” I pause, then add, “And not a total jerkface.”
“All right,” he says, chuckling softly. “I hear you. But you won’t find him if you don’t see what’s out there.” He clicks
off his profile and back to Roger’s. “Plus, I have the perfect not-boring date idea for you and Roger.”
That night, while I’m lying in bed, I open the Matched app on my phone. I ignore my messages, and for reasons I hope to never have to explain, I navigate to Miles’s profile.
I open the photo and stare at it. He has a kindness about him. Perfect blend of well-groomed meets messy hair and just the
right amount of stubble, with sandy-blond hair and genuinely piercing eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
But then my eyes find the words he’s written under the photo, and I reread them again in hopes they’ll bring me back to reality.
Nice guy looking to have fun.
Judging by who I’ve seen him with, a forty-something divorcée is the opposite of what he’s looking for.
I’m definitely a “swipe left.”
Claire: Guess who got a job!
Minnie: No way!
Claire:
Minnie: Wait. You’re working at a coffee shop?
Claire: Yes! I just got done with orientation.
I think the girl training me is twelve. ??
Minnie: Are you having an identity crisis?
Claire: No! I’m giving myself the summer to have a fun job until I figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.
Minnie: I give it a week.
Claire: What? Why? I’ll be great at this!
Minnie: You’re WAY too used to being in charge. You are SO not going to be okay taking orders from teenagers and serving coffee
to professional people going off to do jobs you could do in your sleep.
Claire: What happened to Cheerleader Minnie?
The girl who tells me I can do anything?
Minnie: She’s still here. She just knows you can do more than make coffee.
Claire: Well, she will also be happy to know I also have my first date tonight.
Minnie: WITH ROGER, WOO-HOO
Miles told me.
Claire: He did?
Minnie: ??
Can we talk about Miles for a second?
Claire: No.
Minnie: Why don’t you date him?
Claire: Miles is not interested in a relationship.
He’s playing the field, dating like three women who are all half his age at the same time.
Minnie: Huh.
Claire: Huh, what?
Minnie: He just doesn’t seem like the type.