Amelia
FORTY-SEVEN
MARCH, THREE SEASONS AGO
Me
Which outfit works best for a first date?
*Attachment: 1 image*
Lainey
I love the black dress on the left, but I also love the blue pants with the white top!
Sienna
The pants were going to be my vote too! With those wedges you bought last year.
Lainey
Hang on. Who are you going on a date with?
Is it the guy from the league?
Me
No. This is my attempt at getting over the guy from the league.
Sienna
Proud of you, darling. It’s not easy, but you’re moving in the right direction.
Me
I hope immersion therapy works.
Lainey
Send us your location so we know where you are in case we don’t hear from you for hours.
Sienna
That doesn’t mean she’s murdered. Could mean she’s having the best sex of her life.
Me
I don’t know the last time I had an orgasm that wasn’t brought on by the toys I keep in my nightstand.
Lainey
That’s half of what these dating apps are for, Amelia!! Quick hookups that don’t mean anything.
Sienna
I met a guy on them, and we get together every couple of months. No bullshit, no relationship drama. He’s a good fuck, and that’s it.
Lainey
For the record, there’s nothing wrong with sleeping with a guy the first night you meet him. If you want to end your drought tonight, maybe he will be happy to help.
Me
Thanks for the encouragement. I’m going with the pants, by the way.
Sienna
Have fun!
Lainey
Text us later!
The guy I matched with is an engineer named Bryson. Tall, never married, no kids. Said he plays on a beer league hockey team with some guys he went to college with.
Stanford, he wrote in our messages the other night. I love California in the spring.
I couldn’t lie about what I do for work; he recognized me right away. Was even bashful about it, admitting late last night that he was nervous to meet me because he’s a fan.
That should make me feel better about how tonight is going to go, but I’m still second-guessing myself on the Uber ride to the restaurant. By the time I hop out of the car, I think I’m making the world’s biggest mistake.
If you ever want to get over Grant, you have to do this, I tell myself. It’s been long enough.
“Amelia?”
I turn at the sound of my name, smiling at the man with dirty-blond hair and a collared shirt he paired with jeans. He answers me with a smile of his own and a bouquet of roses he extends my way.
“Hi,” I say.
“I’m Bryson,” he says, and I take the flowers out of his hold.
“It’s so nice to meet you. These are beautiful,” I answer.
“My mom always told me I’m not allowed to show up empty-handed to a first date. It was flowers or a hockey puck, and I figured you’d enjoy a night off from having to talk about work.”
“You figured correctly.” I laugh. My shoulders relax, and I clutch the flowers tight to my chest. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. I called and got a table on the back side of the restaurant. It has a nice view of the river,” he says.
“Sounds perfect.”
I let him put his hand on the small of my back as he holds the door open. A nice woman at the hostess stand offers to take our jackets, and we’re whisked off to a table covered in a white cloth with a candle in the middle.
“Do you have a side preference?” Bryson asks, gesturing to the two seats.
“Oh, no. Either one is fine.”
“Didn’t know if you wanted some space to slip out and run if things took a turn.”
“I have been known to be a runner.” I laugh again and pick the chair on the right so I can rest the flowers at the edge of the table against the wall. “You figured out my secret.”
“I was wondering if you were as fast on land as you are on the ice.” Bryson scoots his chair in, folding his hands in front of him. “I learned how to skate three years ago after being suckered into joining a beer league because they needed an extra player.”
“It’s hard to learn as an adult. It goes against everything we’ve been taught as far as walking goes, but it does get easier the longer you do it.”
“That’s what I was told.” He smiles. “I promise that’s the last hockey-related thing I’m going to say.”
We settle in with a drink and a bread basket.
A glimmer of hope sparks in me when he nudges the butter my way and insists I have the first slice.
No comment about carbs. No comment about how I might like a salad instead.
He dips his chin and politely asks the server to bring us more when we finish the first basket.
This man might be a unicorn, and I’m suspicious.
“I have a habit of filling up before my entree gets here,” I admit. “I love to eat. Carbs in particular, and I don’t care if that means I can’t finish my pasta.”
“My kryptonite is ice cream. I try not to eat a bowl every night, but sometimes, I can’t help it.”
“We all have our vices.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “How do you like being an engineer?”
“I apologize for how nerdy this is going to sound, but I love it. I’ve always loved figuring out how to put things together. Remember Tinkertoys and Lincoln Logs?” he asks.
“I loved Tinkertoys!”
“Same.” He laughs, and it shows off a dimple on both cheeks.
“Math has always been my strong suit, and I followed that passion through college. Now I’m responsible for working on plans for a lot of city projects, including the new baseball stadium Denver proposed.
It’s cheesy to say I’m living out my dreams, but I am. ”
“I like that. The world is too hard on us as it is. Doing something you’re passionate about is a blessing.” I reach for another piece of bread. “Is that what brought you to Denver?”
“No. My last relationship did. We had a lot of love for each other, but we knew it wouldn’t work out long-term.
I had planted roots in the city, so I didn’t bother leaving.
It helps that we’re friendly enough that on the off chance we do run into each other somewhere, we can get through the encounter without making anyone around us uncomfortable.
” Bryson pauses to take a sip of his wine.
“What about you? Any breakups or bitter exes in the picture?”
“None. I haven’t dated much in the last five years. It’s hard with my job,” I admit. “Everyone has an opinion, and it’s not often they’re encouraging. My job keeps me busy, and I don’t mind being alone all that much.”
We talk through dinner, and the conversation is decent. I’m having more fun than I thought I would, and when the check comes and Bryson pays for it, I agree to grab some ice cream with him from the spot around the corner.
“The chocolate chip cookie dough is the best in the city,” he tells me, and there’s a whisper in my ear about how cookies and cream is better.
I keep the thought to myself.
We find a spot on a bench where our knees almost touch. When his hand accidentally grazes mine, I wait for butterflies. I wait for fireworks or a sign that I could be attracted to him, but nothing comes.
All I see when I close my eyes is the man with dark hair and a new tattoo, courtesy of me. I can hear his laughter, and I remember the heavy weight of his hand on my thigh when we were tangled in the blankets on my couch.
I try. I try so fucking hard to be present in the moment because Bryson is a surprisingly nice guy.
He’s funny and smart and exceedingly kind.
On paper, he’s perfect. Exactly who I would go for if asked the type of man I’d want to spend an evening with, but the longer I sit beside him and nod along to his story about an injury he sustained in a wiffle ball game, the more glaringly obvious it becomes that this will never work.
He isn’t Grant, and that’s his biggest flaw.
“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Bryson asks. “Or a nightcap?”
“I think it’s best if I call an Uber and head home,” I say.
“Ah. Gotcha. We’re not clicking,” he says, and I decide he’s definitely another exception to my anti-patriarchy stance. There’s no arguing or trying to convince me I’m wrong. It’s simple acceptance, and it’s a breath of fresh air. “I appreciate you being honest with me.”
“I really did have fun tonight. It went better than I thought it would.”
“I get it. You never know what you’re going to get from someone on the apps. Guys especially.” Bryson chuckles. “Thanks for the good conversation, Amelia.”
“Thank you for dinner and the ice cream.” I toss my empty cup in the trash can. The cookie dough flavor was pretty good. It just wasn’t perfect. “Good luck with everything.”
“You too. We might not have worked out, but I’m still going to cheer for the Goldminers.”
“Appreciate that.” I smile. “Good night, Bryson.”
I delete the dating app from my phone in the backseat of an Uber. I watch the city pass through the window, stuck between the first signs of lovesickness and wondering if I should say fuck it and give in to what I want once and for all.