CHAPTER 7 Amelia
Amelia
The minutes tick over, hurtling me towards the end of my shift at the salon, inching me closer to my upcoming date. My upcoming date with the accountant. I’m currently keeping my anxiety at bay while sweeping away the remnants of my last haircut of the day, waiting for my mentor and boss to finish with her last client, so she can make my hair look presentable.
“Millie, honey. I’m almost done here. Why don’t you finish up and then take a seat?”
I nod my thanks to Andrea, aka the best boss in the world, and busy myself with putting away the broom and cleaning down my workstation. Anything to keep my mind off what’s happening tonight.
“OK, spill.”
I look up to see a worried frown on Andrea’s face. She’s been my boss, and more, since I started here at her salon over five years ago as an apprentice. It’s because of her I love coming to work every day, that I’m actually good at my job and that I have a shoulder to cry on whenever I need it.
I blow some wayward strands off my face and puff my cheeks out. When I tell her what’s on my mind, I’m guaranteed she’s going to mock my dramatics. Dating for her, even in her fifties, is fun. She can’t understand why it’s such a chore for me.
“My friends have set me up on a date tonight.” I hold my breath and wait for it.
“Yay!” she claps in delight. “That’s exciting.”
“That’s one way to describe it,” I mutter under my breath as she leads me to the sink, wrapping a towel around my shoulders when we get there. “It’s a date with an accountant.”
I close my eyes and let her magic hands soothe me as she washes my hair, complete with a deep cleaning scalp massage.
“There’s nothing wrong with accountants,” she chastises me. “My second husband was a whiz with numbers and also a whiz in bed!” Her booming laugh coaxes a smile from me and also from the few lingering clients scattered around the salon. “What’s the actual problem here?”
With a towel wrapped around my head, I walk back to my chair and flop into it with a weary-sounding sigh. There isn’t any real problem with going out with Tom the accountant, it’s just that he may not be the one I want to be going out with.
“I saw Jake last week.”
Andrea’s brightly painted mouth drops open, and she immediately gets a faraway look expression on her face. She’d only met Jake on one occasion, when he’d visited the salon during the time I was dating Robby, to drop off my phone that I’d left at their place the night before. My boss had taken that opportunity to fall head over heels in love with him.
“Jake is back in our lives?” she asks, her tone reverent. Like she’s praying for it to be true.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I hedge. “I happened upon him—twice—and then he texted me last night out of the blue.”
Her dark brown eyes bore into mine and I wonder if my hair will ever get done at this rate. Maybe I should have saved this information for after my blow dry?
“Tell me everything.” She sits in the chair next to me, pulling me close to her, so that we are only inches apart. “How did he look? Is he as yummy as ever?”
Was he ever!
Wait—where did that thought come from?
“He looked the same,” I tell her, my cheeks flaming from my errant thoughts.
“So, still like Clark Kent?”
My mind flashes to his face, which had been so close to mine as he carried me to his car. His stubbled jaw, his dimpled cheek, his arresting green eyes. He’s even better than Clark Kent.
“He’s the same!”
“Methinks you protest too much,” she sing-songs at me, standing up to get to work on my dripping hair. Finally.
“Anyway, how did we get here?” I’m confused as to why we’re talking about Jake when it’s the accountant I should be focussed on.
“Because you started talking about your date and your mind magically ended up on Jake. I always knew there was something between the two of you.”
It’s true. From the brief five minutes she’d observed of me and Jake together, she’d sworn that he was the man I should be dating. Completely ignoring the fact that his brother was my boyfriend.
“You know, it was never like that. I’d never cheat on a boyfriend. Not even Robby.”
She bobs her head at me, knowing that after what my dad put me and my mum through, I’d never, ever do that to another human being. Even someone as douchey as Robby.
“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t a little spark there. A baby ember perhaps?” she says, her voice loud over the hair dryer as she works on twisting my hair into natural-looking beach waves down my back. “Instead of dating the accountant, you should date him.”
My long-ago eaten lunch takes a dive in my stomach at this thought and I promptly banish her words into the deep recesses of my mind. I can’t acknowledge the attraction I felt for Jake that first night and then again, a week ago, because that would make me the worst type of person. A person just like my dad.
“Drea.” I use my sternest voice. “I can’t go after my ex-boyfriend’s brother. It’s not right.”
I watch her shake her head in the mirror. “Honey,” she uses her motherly voice, and I want to sink into it.
Andrea has been more of a mother figure to me than my own mum for the past half a decade I’ve worked for her, and I value her dearly. Except when it comes to men; that’s when she’s usually steering me in the wrong direction.
“If you were to give in to the feelings I know you have for that young man,” Andrea continues, “you’d be doing nothing wrong. You were a loyal girlfriend to that no-hoper Robby. You stood by him and never once looked in another man’s direction. Just remember, he dumped you.” I wince at this harsh reminder. “And it’s been six months, and he has a new girlfriend. What you decide to do next has nothing to do with him. Even if who you decide to do is his brother.”
She laughs loudly at her little pun and after a minute, I join her. Even if I have no intention of following her advice and, um—doing—Jake, it’s nice to know I have her blessing. Because in my mind, it still feels like a betrayal. It still feels wrong to have any of these thoughts about this particular man.
“Enough about Jake.” I jostle in my seat to dislodge all thoughts of him. “What should I wear on my date tonight?”
Andrea purses her lips, deep in thought. “Something that will knock his socks off. Something that shows off all of your skin!”
And just like that, we’re focussed on pulling together an outfit that is sexy but not overly slutty, an outfit that could be the one to bowl over contestant number one in the dating plan. Causing me to have a small sprinkle of excitement about what’s coming.
Bring on the night ahead!
*****
Or maybe not.
It’s the night of my big date, the first from my dating plan, and my hand is currently tucked under the fancy linen tablecloth, holding my phone and blindly typing the following message to any and all of my friends:
SOS! HELP!
I’ve been enduring this date for over an hour now and things are getting desperate. Where are my friends when I need them?
“Amelia? Are you listening?”
My head jolts towards Tom—aka, the accountant—and I send him what I hope is a conciliatory smile.
“Sorry, I missed that,” I say.
“He was just getting to the best part of his story.”
This sharp rebuke is the reason I’m frantically texting my friends under the table. Because the person who’s chastising me for not listening to the most boring of all boring stories is…Tom’s mother.
That’s right. His mother.
The date had started off well. I’d met Tom, the accountant, for a drink at a local bar close to where we both live. After getting my hair done in sexy, tousled waves, I’d gone home and settled on an outfit that is classic with a bit of an edge—a little black dress paired with black combat boots—and I’d arrived feeling positive and ready. Tom had shown up looking handsome in a button-down blue shirt to match his eyes and black jeans, and he’d been…pleasant. So pleasant that when the time came to move forward with the date, to eat or not to eat, I’d seen no red flags urging me to walk away and so I’d followed him to the adjacent restaurant, to have dinner. To find his mother waiting for us.
At first, I’d thought she was just there in case our date had bombed; you know, to keep him company. To console him, perhaps. But then she stayed. And monopolised the entire conversation. And Tom just let her.
WHAT. IS. HAPPENING?
“Sorry, Mrs. Walker,” I mutter, hanging my head. Yes, she demanded I call her Mrs. Walker. “Please continue, Tom.”
Not needing any further encouragement, the accountant launches back into his story about filed taxes that went awry. I laugh along in all the appropriate places, following his mum’s cues, not wanting to risk another lecture.
“Isn’t he funny?” Tom’s mum asks in an eager tone the second her son’s story ends. “He’s so smart and funny. Any girl would be lucky to have him.”
I nod, too scared to do anything else, while scanning the room to catch the attention of the server. She’d seemed to pick up quite early what a train-wreck this date was and had been filling up my wine glass like clockwork. Last drop, top up.
“Will you excuse me?” I address the mother/son team in front of me. They’re even sitting on the same side of the booth; I feel like I’m on a job interview, for goodness’ sake. “I’m just going to use the restroom.”
Not waiting for an answer, I take off for the toilets, like the demons of hell are chasing me, only slowing down once the door of the bathroom has slammed shut behind me.
“Lilly, you are in so much trouble.” I dial her number, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait for her to pick up.
“Amelia?”
“I’m going to kill you!”
Only silence greets me and I check my phone to see if she’s hung up on me.
“Are you there?”
“We’re all here!” The voices of Lilly, Bella and Amy sound through the phone, bringing me instant comfort. “We’re having a wine night and waiting for you to call with an update. How’s it going?”
How’s it going? Shouldn’t they have gleaned this from my SOS text messages?
“It’s awful,” I whisper, my attention focused on the door in case Mrs. Walker follows me in here. “Why haven’t you rescued me?”
“Did she text you for help?” Lilly’s voice is faint, like she’s holding the phone away from her mouth and I hear a muttering of voices in response.
“Ladies!” I snap at them to get their attention back to me. “I texted you all, SOS!”
“Nope, I didn’t get it. I only got some random letters that I thought was a butt dial.” This is from Amy.
“Me too.”
“Me too.”
I groan and pull up my text message thread. True enough, my blind texting spree had just been a jumble of gobbledegook. Perfect.
“Well, I’m telling you now. I’m sending a big SOS. In smoke signals and written in the sky. Get me out of here!” That last part comes out as a yell and I once again I check that Tom’s mum isn’t in here to hear this.
“What happened?” Again, this is Lilly. The one who is responsible for this entire ordeal in the first place.
“He brought his mum on the date.”
Nothing.
Silence.
Then barking laughter.
“He did what?” Bella gasps out through her giggles.
“He. Brought. His. Mother. On. Our. Date.” I punctuate every word so they can absorb the full effect of what I’m saying. “And she’s not even nice.”
“I’m sorry, Millie. That’s awful.” The laughter has stopped and, in its place, comes the sympathy.
Finally.
“It is. And I need you to fix it.”
I stay on the line and listen to them discuss ways to get me out of here. Lilly suggests calling in a bomb threat (no). Bella suggests calling me with a family emergency (maybe?). And Amy, the ever-logical Amy, suggests I just tell them I want to leave.
“Like, just tell them the truth?” I’m gobsmacked at how easy she makes it all sound. “Isn’t that rude?”
“It’s not ruder than bringing a third person, unannounced and uninvited, on your date,” she points out while the other two murmur in agreement. “Just pay for your meal. Tell them it’s been nice to meet them and bounce. Come to my place and drink wine with us instead.”
The mental image of the three of them hanging together is infinitely better than the prospect of sitting back down with Tom and Mrs. Walker, being forced to listen to another one of his ‘hilarious’ stories.
“OK. OK, I’m going to do it.”
The girls cheer me on from the other end of the line and I’m buoyed by their support. Hanging up, I take a minute to re-apply my cherry-red lipstick (completely wasted on the likes of that man waiting out there) and square my shoulders.
“You’re a strong, confident woman. You can do this.”
“Are you talking to me?”
I startle, whirling around to see that I’m no longer alone in the bathroom.
“Sorry,” I smile at the young woman who’s edging away from me, like she’s worried I’m about to go off the deep end. Fair. “Just gearing myself up to get out of a terrible date.”
Bathroom girl laughs, her shoulders relaxing. “Well, in that case, good luck, girl!”
We fist bump—strange—and with a spring in my step, I strut back to Tom and his mum. I leave my money on the table and wish them a pleasant evening. And then I bolt to the Uber I have waiting for me, unable to feel my legs as I go but still elated to put this awful night behind me.
*****
“You owe me cookies.” I say this to Lilly as she opens the door to let me into the house Amy shares with her husband Lucas. It had been a short Uber ride from my date from hell to my friend’s place and I’d spent every minute stewing over what a disaster the whole night had been. “And brownies.”
“Free cookies and brownies for a month.” She puts her arms around me and pulls me in for a hug. A tight, warm, comforting hug.
“For a year,” I counter-offer, a smile on my face to tell her I’m only half-serious.
“It can’t have been that bad.” This comes from Bella, who is lying on the floor, her head on a cushion, her feet up on the couch. She’s drinking a cocktail from a straw and I’m pretty sure she’ll end up sleeping through the night right where she currently lies.
“His mum lectured me about how unsuitable my boots are with this dress,” I tell them, twirling to show off my killer look to its best advantage. “I mean, come on, these boots are amazing.”
“’Tis true,” Bella agrees, tipping her head further back upside down to get a better look. “Your legs look smoking hot in that mini-dress, boots combo.”
“Exactly.” I take the offered glass of wine from Amy and plonk myself on the couch next to Bella’s feet. “And then she told me how few eggs I’ll have left if I wait too long to have babies.”
My friend’s faces mirror back my horror as I remember her exact words: “Every month you don’t fall pregnant is another month closer to being barren.” Yep, she actually used the word ‘barren’.
“Well, forget him. Forget them,” Amy says, opening her desk drawer. “We can just move on to the letter B. I’ve got a good feeling about the letter B.”
I roll my eyes. And snatch Bella’s cocktail from her hand, taking a big slurp. “Can we not?”
Amy looks at me and places the folder back in the drawer, closing it with an emphatic thump.
“You’re right. There’s absolutely no need to move on with this dating plan. You are a strong, independent woman who can be just as happy alone as in a couple.”
Bella and Lilly give this a drunken cheer and I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. I love these women and their ridiculous antics.
“Thank you!” I stand up and give an unsteady bow. Must slow down on the cocktails. “I’m glad we’re all on the same page.”
“It’s true,” Bella says, sitting up, the wonky bun on the top of her head wobbling a bit. She needs a haircut. “You’ve got a successful career, which you love.”
“I do.”
“And the cutest apartment which you own all by yourself.”
“Well, the bank owns most of it,” I clarify.
“Meh,” Bella charges on. “You have a pleasant relationship with your mum…”
I give them a so-so hand gesture, because this isn’t entirely true.
“And you have us!” She finishes her monologue with a sweeping motion while Lilly and Amy nod along like bobble-head dolls.
“You don’t need a man,” Amy adds. “You are perfectly whole, just as you are.”
It’s true. Every word they’ve said to pump me up is accurate, and for the most part, I’m happy on my own. It’s just those moments, the ones you want to celebrate the wins or the ones where you want your hand held, where having a partner would be…nice.
“And yet…” I trail off, not wanting to burst our girl power bubble. “I want what you guys have…”
My three married friends look at each other and then back at me with matching facial expressions. They understand exactly what I’m saying because the three of them hadn’t been looking for love but were lucky enough to find it, anyway.
“So…back to the folder?” Lilly asks, her blue eyes shining with excitement. And intoxication.
My mind flashes to Tom and Mrs. Walker. Is the folder the best way forward?
“OK, let’s do it.”
The three of them scramble to get the folder out of its resting place, flipping the pages with gusto to find which unsuspecting man is going to be next on my list.
“Bookkeeper?”
Pass, that’s too close to an accountant.
“Baker?”
No, too many early mornings.
“Beekeeper?”
Is that really a job?
I watch on, amused, as they wade through the options of men and their respective professions, hoping that they land on someone better than Tom, the accountant.
PING.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. A message from Jake! I haven’t heard from him since he encouraged me to go out on my date tonight and was wondering if I’d ever hear from him again.
JAKE: How’d your date go with the accountant?
(Hmmm, so he’s still interested in hearing about my dating life? I don’t hate it).
AMELIA: It didn’t go.
AMELIA: He was a dud.
The three dots appear and disappear and I hold my breath, waiting for his response.
JAKE: I’m glad.
A squeal bubbles out of me involuntarily, distracting my friends from the task at hand. He’s glad??
“What’s happening?” Bella asks.
I hide my phone behind my back. “Nothing, just excited about who you’re going to choose for my next date.”
“That’s the spirit!” Lilly raises her glass to toast me. “We’re going to find a winner in here, for sure.”
Once their attention is focused back on the folder, I pull my phone out, my hands sweaty and slippery on the smooth surface. What does he mean, he’s glad?
JAKE: Millie? Are you still there?
JAKE: Was that rude?
JAKE: Should I want your date with the accountant to go well?
I re-read the three messages from Jake that had been sent in quick succession. Hating that text messages are so cryptic. There needs to be a way to infer tone from these simple sentences.
AMELIA: You’re fine. The date was not.
JAKE: Want to talk about it?
AMELIA: NO!!!
JAKE: C’mon…
AMELIA: OK, I’ll give you a four-word synopsis and then we’ll never speak of this again.
JAKE: Deal.
AMELIA: He. Brought. His. Mum.
JAKE: …
JAKE: …
JAKE: …
I can almost hear the shock and laughter in his three dots, appearing and disappearing with glee.
JAKE: He did not.
AMELIA: I can hear you laughing.
JAKE: What a waste. He saw you, right? Like he saw how gorgeous you are and still brought his mum along?
The butterflies in my stomach take off in a frenzy as I re-read this message from Jake. He thinks I’m gorgeous?
AMELIA: Well, it’s over now.
JAKE: Good riddance…
I pause, unsure of how to proceed.
AMELIA: I guess now I have a date with the letter B to look forward to…
I wait for a response to this.
Nothing.
After three minutes—I time it by counting the seconds in my head—I’m resigned that he’s probably tired of my nonsense conversation and put my phone under the couch cushion, away from the temptation to check it every thirty seconds.
“Millie!” I glance up at my friends who are all watching me, grins beaming from their faces. “We found him.”
I groan, internally so as not to dampen their excitement.
Amy holds up the folder, waving to the page in front of her.
“We found the perfect guy for you.”
They pass the folder over to me and I scan the information laid out on the page in front of me, which now includes photos and a small bio. They’ve really ramped up the calibre of their presentation of prospective mates for me since the last time we’d looked it over.
“You guys are sure about this?”
They’d chosen a friend of a friend who works with Lucas, and who doesn’t seem like a complete loser. On paper.
My three best friends nod in unison and I take a deep breath.
“Then it looks like I’ll be going out with a biomedical scientist!”
Whatever that is.