Chapter 16 #3
Sara marched up to our table, her arms wrapped around two large bakery boxes.
"Hi," she chirped, wiggling one hand from under the bakery box in an attempt at a wave.
"This seemed like a fine idea when I was walking over here but now I realize I don't know eighty percent of you and I don't have a meaningful connection to the twenty percent.
I blame the donuts." She glanced down at the boxes.
"I bought one of each but now that seems excessive.
I don't know what to do with twenty-eight donuts. "
The men started to speak at once, but Andy silenced them with a quietly lethal "Stop." She studied Sara for a moment before asking, "Do you like farmers' markets?"
"In theory, yes," she replied. "In practice, I end up with an obscure collection of items I don't know how to cook and then I order takeout. Again." She shrugged. "I've had a spaghetti squash on my countertop for six weeks. It confounds me."
Andy waved off this argument. "We can fix that. Give me your number."
Rob tapped his fist against his chin before saying, "I'm no expert but I think it's time to let the squash go. Before it decomposes."
Patrick pointed at him. "That is solid advice."
Sara replied with a curt headshake. "I don't mind decomposition in flora or fauna." She glanced to the side, humming a bit. "Or humans."
"High-test," Ben said through a cough.
"Yeah, give me your number," Andy insisted. Her thumbs flew over her phone's touchscreen as Sara rattled off the digits. "Since we have you here, can you clear something up for us?"
"Does it pertain to human or plant decomposition?" she asked.
Andy barreled forward, undaunted by the straight-up ickiness of Sara's response. "Neither." Pointing to Ben, she continued. "Did this gentleman behave appropriately in your company?"
Sara's gaze swung between Andy and Ben. "Excuse me?"
"Did he invite you out and then ditch you?" Patrick asked.
Frowning, Sara studied Ben for a beat. "Oh, no.
No. He asked if I wanted to meet his neighbor.
I'm not sure which one of you that is but I wasn't sure about compounding the layers of newness here.
I think that's why I bought all these donuts.
Coping mechanism." She crouched down, close to Ben.
"Here. Take the top box. I'm going to bring the other one to work. "
Ben collected the box, saying, "You heard the lady."
"Yeah, so," Sara started, glancing around the table, "I should go."
"Get rid of that spaghetti squash," Rob said.
As Sara darted away, Andy called, "I'll text you about the farmers' market."
"What's the big deal about farmers' markets?" Ben asked.
Patrick pried open the new box. "Don't ask."
"Yes, ask," Andy argued. "Don't listen to him. I have thoughts on the best markets in and around the city."
As Andy launched into her dissertation on the region's agricultural output and corresponding farm-to-table retail model, I curled in on myself.
It was easier that way, quieter. And I needed to step back from this reality to hear my thoughts.
How else could I kick around the notion of dating both Rob and Ben?
It didn't seem real and I couldn't determine whether I wanted it to be real. Whether I wanted Rob to backtrack or soft-pedal his suggestion. It was less risky than to imagine myself as the woman in a relationship with two men.
But it wasn't the men making this risky.
It was the illusion of abundance. I'd spent the entire winter wandering through the Death Valley of Dating and I knew that was my reality.
This—Rob and Ben and all of it—was a mirage.
An optical illusion. A set of atmospheric conditions refracting my greatest wants and needs through heated air.
I knew this was an illusion, but that didn't stop me.
"If we do this," I started, glancing at Ben and Rob, "we're going to be civil. This animosity was cute for a hot second and now I'm over it."
"I can be civil," Rob replied.
"I'll tattoo 'civil' anywhere you want it," Ben added.
"If we do this," I continued, "we're going to stop running into each other like this."
Rob folded his arms on the table, laughing. "I live in the new building around the corner," he said, pointing toward the street. "And I've told you I like this place."
"Best donuts in Boston, a million years running," Ben said. "Where the fuck else would I take the new chick in town?"
I wagged my iced coffee cup at them. "Whatever. I don't care how it happened, we're going to make sure it doesn't happen again. No more group dates."
Andy raised her hand. "Does that include me? Because I'd love to just observe this social experiment."
"Same," Patrick added.
I rolled my eyes, setting aside her question for a time when I didn't have Ben and Rob staring me down. "No gaming the system. Don't look for loopholes. Be legit or be gone." Ben started to speak but I stopped him, adding, "Unless it's civil, don't say it."
"Motherfucker," he murmured. "I'm gonna bite my fuckin' tongue off before noon."
Rob smiled at me and said, "My tongue is just fine."
He didn't check the boxes. He didn't want any emotional attachment or intimacy. But hell, he knew how to heat me up with the barest of touches, glances, words. "Thank you for that update."
Ben closed his eyes, pressed his fist to his mouth. "Time limit," he gritted out. "We need a fucking time limit on this experiment."
"Yes, please," Rob added.
I looked around the bakery, hoping to find an answer tucked in between the dough and yeast and sugar.
I found none, only a gentle reminder in the form of chalkboard signs heralding the impending launch of the seasonal special strawberry-rhubarb glazed donut that summer was almost here.
The strawberry season was obscenely short.
Most of the local growers I knew managed only a two- or three-week harvest.
I could manage more than that. Right? Yeah. I needed more than that and…and I had this on lock.
"The summer," I said. "I'll give you two the summer."
I wasn't certain of many things but I knew this wasn't what my mother had in mind.