The Speed Date
Bad dates make great stories.
-Kindra Hall
“ Y ou get two minutes with each date, so use your time well,” Lauren, the event organizer, called out into the dark.
This was a ridiculous idea. How did I let my sister talk me into this?
“Every three dates, you will pause and fill out any necessary notes on the iPads to your right.”
I reached out to see if I could feel the device next to me. Yup, there it was.
“The settings have been configured to always be in night mode with the lowest possible brightness, so if you’re hoping to get a glimpse of one of your dates using the iP ad screen, you’re out of luck,” Lauren informed the participants.
Okay. We needed to move this along. The quicker we started, the quicker I could be out of here and back to reality. I didn’t even realize speed dating was still a thing, let alone in the dark .
“I hope you enjoy the experience and meet someone magical this evening!” Lauren yelled, with far too much excitement for my taste.
The sound of a bell pierced the air, and the shuffling of feet could be heard as dates were escorted to their first tables.
“Hey there,” a baritone voice said from across the table.
Well…I may as well take part since I’m here. I forced a pleasant tone and said, “Hi, I’m Megan.”
“Megan. That’s a sexy name. May-gehn. I like that.”
Oh boy. “Um, thanks? And what’s your name?”
“Chuck. Guarantee you’ll never forget it, either.”
Was it possible to hear a smirk? Because that’s one thousand percent what Chuck was doing. I’d bet my left leg.
“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but how do you guarantee I’ll never forget it?”
“‘Cause you’ll be screamin’ it later, Megan.”
Ew. Shouldn’t have asked.
“I think I’m gonna pass, Chuck.” Keeping my obvious disgust out of my tone was a Herculean effort.
“I don’t think that’s how this works.” His cocky baritone increased an octave. “You have to finish two minutes with me.”
I sighed. Chuck was right, of course. But no way I was interested in this douchey disembodied voice.
“I’m sorry, Chuck. You can talk if you want, but I’m not interested in a man who presents themselves the way you do.”
“Fine.” He huffed so loudly a puff of air blew my fringe out of my face. “But it’s your major loss, babe.”
“I think I can live with that.”
Terrible start. Now I had to wait the timer out with an annoyed dickbag sitting across from me, grumbling in the blackness.
Boy, this was awkward.
Was I really going to meet someone at speed dating in the dark?
Could he tap his foot any louder against the chair leg?
Ding!
Oh, thank goodness. But the woman next to me was about to meet Mr. Douche Canoe, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
Escorts came to the tables to usher the men to their next date. I wasn’t sure how close she was sitting, but the din of the room was enough that I was sure the dates wouldn’t hear me if I whispered to her. “Good luck with this next guy. ”
“Am I going to need it?” a sweet, melodious voice asked.
“You have no idea,” I chuckled.
Metal chair legs scraped against the floor, and my next date plunked down across from me.
“Hi there. I’m Joe. Nice to meet you,” he said, a pleasant timbre to his voice.
“Hi, Joe. I’m Megan. I like dogs, hiking, and adding books to free little libraries.”
“I also like dogs, as well as swimming, fixing up old cars, and deep-frying food.”
Okay. Not a terrible start. I could give this guy a chance. “What type of cars do you work on? Vintage ones or old beaters or…?”
“Well, technically, my dad fixes up the cars, and I watch. It’s perfect because he works in the garage, and I do my deep frying on the driveway.” He sniffed and cleared his throat.
“That’s…cool. You deep fry often?” I didn’t like where this was going.
“Only every day!” The pitch of his voice went up as excitement took over. “Did you know you can deep fry almost any food? I’ve done turkeys, cookies, ice cream, ham, a complete BLT sandwich, a…”
Date Number Two kept listing food items, and I shut off my brain. He and Date Number One were proving me right and my sister wrong.
Speed dating just wasn’t for me, especially if these were the kin ds of guys I was going to meet. Maybe it was the whole in the dark aspect of this whole thing that gave them the confidence to just come right out with their weird quirks? Either way, this wasn’t shaping up to be a promising evening.
“…pickles, and then I got a heavy-duty deep fryer for my forty-second birthday, and let me tell you, this thing could deep fry a Bernese Mountain dog! Not that I’d ever do that or anything. But I did try deep frying a leg of lamb once, and…”
At least I didn’t have to feign interest and nod along with a smile on my face. Score one point for the whole dark schtick.
“I just moved back to Halifax, actually.” The woman sitting next to me explained to her date. She was much more interesting than Mr. Deep Fry. “I spent some time up in the North teaching and finally came back home after eight years in Beaver Creek.”
I’d always wanted to travel to the North. See Yellowknife or Whitehorse. Experience the all-day darkness they get up there.
“I’ve been getting settled, doing some hiking and kayaking to get reacquainted with the area. It’s been nice, but lonely,” she told Mr. Douche Canoe, who promptly told her he could fix her loneliness.
“Do you like it?” My date’s voice asked, snapping me out of my eavesdropping session.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Do I like what? ”
“Deep-fried food—do you like it?” His voice was so full of hope, it almost made me feel bad for zoning out. Almost.
“I don’t,” I admitted. “I’m more of a regular food kind of gal.”
He let out a breath full of disappointment. “Well then, I’m sorry to say this won’t work out between us.”
Ding!
“That’s too bad, Joe. But good luck finding someone.”
“Same to you, Megan.”
I heard him rise from his chair before the escort was even at our table to help guide him to his next date.
The pleasant woman next to me would have to listen to his deep-fried monologue. I should spare her.
As soon as the escort grabbed Mr. Deep Fry, I leaned over so the woman could hear me better. “Pssst. Hey. Next guy is obsessed with deep frying. If you’re not, just tell him right out of the gate.”
She laughed. “I hate fried foods. Thanks for the heads-up. Hopefully, number three is better for you.”
“Small pool to pick from, it seems,” I sighed.
“Tell me about it. I’ve been back in town for four months and hoping to connect with someone, but it’s just been so difficult and?—”
“Hey, I’m Phil. How’s it going?” Date Number Three asked me.
“Talk after,” I whispered to her before turning my attention to Phil. “Hi, Phil. I’m Megan.”
He cleared his throat. “How old are you?”
“I’m 29. How about?—”
“What do you do for your career?” he rushed out.
Rude. Interrupting me like that. “I’m a vet tech. What do you?—”
“What is your annual salary?”
If only he could see how far my eyes were bulging out at his audacity. “What? I’m not telling you that. That’s way too personal for a first date.”
“Fine, we’ll come back to it. Do you have any medical conditions that impact your day-to-day life?” There was a self-righteous element to his voice.
She scoffed. “That’s even more personal. Phil, what kind of questions are these?”
“A list of questions for a potential mate. I’ve distilled what I want in a mate down to twenty-five questions. Please answer them quickly, as we are running out of time.”
Not a hint of sarcasm or playfulness coloured his tone. He was serious. Who said mate in reference to finding a partner?
“Would you mind if we just talked? Person to person?” I asked, hoping maybe I could still salvage this date.
“I’d rather you answer the questions. It’s easier that way,” he s tated, not an ounce of compromise evident in his tone.
How was this happening? Were all the single men in Halifax like this?
“Do I get to ask you any questions?” I ventured, though I already knew what he was going to say.
“I…never considered that my dates would want to ask me questions, too.” He sounded stumped.
Ding!
Thank the Lord. The escorts came to take the men back to their side of the room while the women stayed where they were.
“You now have five minutes to grab your iPads and enter your notes into the pre-loaded chart. There is a row for each date, and you can indicate if you’d like to meet them out in the real world using the green check for yes and the red X for no,” Lauren informed the group, once again raising her voice. Did she think being in the dark somehow impacted everyone’s hearing?
I found the iPad beside me and clicked on the screen. This wouldn’t take long. Red X, red X, red X. Sorry, guys. It just wasn’t meant to be.
“Find anyone you like so far?” the woman next to me whispered.
I laughed louder than I should’ve. “Can I say you? Honestly, the snippets I’ve caught from your conversations have been mo re interesting than any of the things my dates have had to say,” I admitted.
She giggled, and the musical quality of it went straight to my heart. “I’m flattered, but I don’t think it takes much. This has been a major disaster, and we’re only three dates in.”
Seemed like I needed to make a case for myself—and fast. Date number four was coming up way too soon. “I’m serious. I’d love to go up north sometime and see what it’s like. And I love hiking, too. I’m a vet tech and have a big black lab that loves to get outside and run around.”
The woman inhaled sharply. “I have a black lab, too! His name is Bert, and he’s the sweetest thing.”
Did she just say Bert? Holy moly. This had to be fate. “There’s no way your dog’s name is Bert.”
“Why not?”
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see. “Because my dog’s name is Ernie.”
“No shit! That’s amazing!” She laughed again, and the sound wormed its way further into my heart.
“I’m Megan,” I said, realizing I should introduce myself.
“Glad to meet you, Megan. I’m Quinn.”
I knew there weren’t any guys here for me. The thought of spending the next half hour going through six more dates made me want to rip off my skin. Quinn, however, had a charming disposition and a pleasing voice. Her laugh was cute, and she had a freaking dog named Bert. If I was going to take one chance today, this was it.
I cleared my throat. “This is going to sound forward, and please correct me if I’m getting this wrong, but…do you wanna get out of here? Together? Grab a drink?”
“Right now? Just leave the event?” A slight hesitation made her voice waver, but she didn’t sound uninterested.
“Why not? Have you met one normal man in the last ten minutes?” I snorted.
Though I couldn’t see her, I could feel something in the air shift between us.
“Let’s do it. You seem cool, and I think our dogs have to meet. It’s probably like a law or something.”
I reached out for her and found her arm. She didn’t pull away, so I slid my palm down her forearm until it reached her hand. “Come on,” I said, pulling her up, out of her seat, and toward the only light in the room—a bright red exit sign.
Using the sign as a beacon, we made our way through the dark, hands clutched together, trying our best not to run into anything or anyone.
“Oof,” I groaned.
“Are you okay?” Quinn whispered behind me, trying not to break out into a fit of giggles.
“Yeah. I think I hit a table or a desk or something,” I snorted ou t, doing my best not to draw attention to my fumbling.
“Is someone walking around? The session hasn’t finished yet. Please take your seats,” Lauren called out.
“Why does she yell everything she says?” Quinn asked, no longer whispering, every other word punctuated with laughter.
“Oh my gosh, I thought I was the only one who noticed that!” I chuckled, doing my best not to break into a fit of hysterics. “Shit,” I mumbled, bumping into another chair.
“Hey, watch it,” came Mr. Douche Canoe’s voice.
“Sorry, bud,” I squealed, unable to hold back my laughter any longer. Big, rumbling fits broke free, and I was practically doubling over while pulling Quinn behind me.
“Was that the deep fry guy?” she asked, much too loud.
“Who’s talking about me?” Mr. Deep Fry hollered from the right side of the room.
“No one!” Quinn yelled, pushing me toward the exit.
“Everyone sit down! This is a serious place where people come to find a serious partner! I won’t tolerate any monkey business,” Lauren shouted.
“Go!” Quinn howled in my ear.
Two more steps, and I was at the exit door, Quinn hot on my he els, pushing through into the fading light of the evening.
I spun to face her, eager to see her in full. In no way was I prepared for what I saw.
Jet black hair.
Warm tan skin.
Cute, oversized glasses.
Deep brown eyes.
Quinn was Quinn Park. My best friend from high school.
“Megan Bishop? Citadel High class of ‘09?” Quinn asked, staring at me like I had eight extra eyes or something.
The grin on my face stretched from ear to ear. “Quinn Park! Well, shit. I haven’t seen you since we graduated. What’s it been…fifteen years?”
She embraced me, and I returned the tight squeeze. “Certainly way too long.”
“No doubt.” I pulled back from the hug, but she kept her arms wrapped around my waist.
“Can I tell you a secret?” She tucked a stray curl behind my ear.
I nodded, lost in the closeness of her, in the spicy cinnamon smell of her perfume, in the shock of seeing her again.
“I always kinda thought you were the one that got away.”
My heartbeat picked up. “Really?”
“We were friends, sure, but I wanted more and was too afraid to say anything. I didn’t want to ruin what we had, and yet we ended up drifting apart anyway.” Her voice was soft and sincere.
Quinn Park used to have a crush on me? How did I miss that all those years ago? “I didn’t know.”
She shrugged, still holding me in her arms. “How could you?”
No time like the present to take a risk. “I think we need to make up for lost time. Still wanna get that drink? See where the evening takes us?”
The hope in my voice was obvious, but I didn’t care. Quinn Park was here, holding me, confessing she used to care for me in a way I never realized.
“More than ever,” she replied, releasing me and opting to take my hand in hers instead.
Quinn and I walked hand in hand down the street, away from the space Total Dark Speed Dating rented out once a month.
“Where do you want to go?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Anywhere you want to take me.”
Her palm against mine felt right. We weren’t starting from scratch. A long time separated those people in high school from the people we were today, but I had a feeling we wouldn’t have a problem getting back on track. Call it intuition, or fate, or karma—whatever you believe.
We knew each other once, and I believed we could know each other again.