Chapter 5
FIVE
Zara
“How’s the hunt for a date going?” Owen teases me. The smirk on his face speaks volumes. He doesn’t think I’m even looking.
I finish chewing the bite of food in my mouth, never losing any eye contact with him.
“It’s going great,” I say. “I have narrowed it down to five possible candidates. I made a list with the pros and cons for each one, along with any possible questions I need to ask during the interview process.”
Owen, who just threw a handful of fries in his mouth, chokes in an instant. His face becomes red as he coughs it all out while hitting a fist against his chest.
“I don’t know Heimlich,” I say once he’s calmed down. “Please don’t have any episodes like that around me. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
He smiles in understanding. “You’d just have to call for help, Z. Someone would be around who would know what to do. Or, in situations more intense than this one, you call nine-one-one.”
“I will,” I promise with every fiber in my body.
Owen clears his throat a few times before taking a sip of water, then pressing a fist to his chest again.
“You need to warn me beforehand when you’re about to say crazy things to me, Z. I about choked to death,” he laughs.
I know he is teasing me, but I don’t understand what for.
“What crazy things?”
“Uh, like you saying you have an interview process to find a date.”
Now that I get why he’s amused, I am offended. I cross my arms over my chest, staring him down, but he doesn’t care. Instead, he laughs some more.
“That’s not how you find a date, Zara. This is not a job.”
I roll my eyes at him. “It’s not like I’d be seeing him after I bring him to this party.”
Owen is once again taken aback by my words. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m just looking for someone to prove to you that I can,” I shrug. “I don’t need to see this person past the Fourth of July party.”
His eyes widen in shock. That’s quickly replaced by pity. I don’t like that at all, especially since I don’t understand why.
“Z,” Owen sighs. “When I dared you to bring a date to this party, it was more of a push for you to get out there, find someone who makes you happy.”
Sadness now mars his features. He definitely feels sorry for me. I don’t think I like that.
“But I am happy,” I insist. “I love my life.”
Onwe opens his mouth to say something but then changes his mind. He smiles and pats the table gently, like he’s touching my hand in comfort.
“That’s really good to hear, Z. I want you to be happy.”
The rest of our lunch date goes a little smoother. He shares some stories from the station, and I tell him about my latest client at work. By the time we have to leave, I feel better, while at the same time, I have this weight in the pit of my stomach.
His words stay with me for the rest of the day and until I get home.
I park the car and run to the door, feeling out of breath until I am finally inside the house.
Going against my usual habits, I drop my purse to the floor and drop in a kitchen chair.
My laptop is where I left it last night, plugged in and ready to go.
Before opening the lid, I take a deep breath in and shake my hands nervously. This is so unlike me. I am normally collected and fear nothing, mostly because everything is planned to the last second. There are no surprises, ever.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
I open the lid and enter my password. The screen comes to life right away, and I waste no time clicking on the Holidates app that I saved when I created my account with them. I hold my breath as I log in, and my heart beats a hundred miles a minute when I notice that I have messages in my inbox.
I don’t waste any time thinking about it because that would just send another wave of panic through me, and I can’t afford to be scared. I got this.
At first, I just blink at the messages waiting for me there. It looks like I have six of them even though I contacted five people. That’s strange.
Clicking on the first message received, I once again take a deep breath in, focusing on staying positive and having no doubt that one of these candidates have responded appropriately to my questionnaire.
That is why I cannot believe my own eyes when I finally make out the words on the screen.
I’m not sure if this questionnaire is supposed to be a joke. If yes, I can tell you that this is not my type of humor so I will have to decline your request of interest. Best of luck.
That is not what I had expected at all. I don’t know what could’ve been funny about the questions I sent. They are standard questions I would ask anyone who would be involved in any capacity in my personal life.
I click on the next response that simply says, No .
The next two messages are about the same, just a little ruder. And finally, the fifth email tells me that I must be off my rocker, whatever that means.
Sadness hits me out of nowhere. I did not expect for my messages to these men to be so ill received.
I had a plan, and I had come up with these questionnaires so they would help me keep a clear head as I made my selection.
But since neither one of the candidates responded in a positive way, I am left with having to start from scratch.
In a way, I kind of want to give up on this. Owen already thinks I won’t be able to find a date, so it’s not like I’d be disappointing him or anything. But I sure wish I could surprise him.
As I lean back in my chair, my eyes fall on the screen, realizing I have one message that’s still unread. Maybe one of the guys who responded so rudely felt bad about it after and sent me another message.
I click on the message, confused beyond measure when I realize that this message is not from any of the guys I initially contacted. His name is Kyle Kelly, and I click on it, which takes me to the page of his profile.
At first, I am taken aback by his picture.
He looks nothing like anyone I would see myself with, even for a transactional date.
I am normally attracted to guys who are serious and put together.
The man in this picture is the opposite of everything I believe in.
His hair is longer and a bit curly, messy all over.
He has bright blue eyes that sparkle with mischief.
And to top it all off, he’s wearing a wrinkled T-shirt that’s seen better days.
All that to say that I am instantly attracted to his carefree air. He seems to be the type of person who truly enjoys life to the fullest. I am completely and absolutely discombobulated by the image he presents.
I go back to the page with the inbox and click on the message he sent to me. My eyes widen in surprise when I start putting together the words on my screen.
Hey there , he starts. My name is Kyle, and you are exactly the type of girl I am looking for.
I will be attending a wedding soon, and my friends gave me very strict instructions on the type of woman I am allowed to bring as my plus one.
See, I like to party a lot, so all the women I know are party girls through and through.
From the serious picture you posted on here, I am convinced that I would make a good impression at their wedding.
I see that you’re looking for a date for a Fourth of July party.
I am totally your man for that. Parties are my specialty, and you won’t regret it should you give me a chance and come with me to this wedding.
Thanks a lot for your consideration.
Kyle
I finish reading, but I’m not sure I understand what he’s saying. I think he just called me boring without actually using the word. I don’t know if I should be offended by that despite the fact that I am well aware that I am not exactly the life of any party.
For a split second, I have this urge to delete his message before going back to sorting through the endless pages of possible candidates.
Then, I remember how painful of a process the first time around was, not to mention the humiliating tone of the responses I got from the men who looked like a perfect fit, at least at a first glance.
With that said, I can’t just accept his offer without doing my due diligence.
So, I hit Reply and attach the questionnaire the others found offensive.
I need to know how Kyle would respond to it.
I am well aware that it could also backfire and leave me with zero options.
But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t do this.
I type in a short message and hit Send before I can change my mind.
My cell phone starts ringing as soon as I do that, causing me to jump in my seat. That reminds me about my bag still sitting on the floor. I snatch it up and dig for my phone. A small smile forms on my lips when I see it’s my mother calling.
“Zara,” she says in her always cheerful tone. “How are you, my girl?”
I stare at my computer, wondering if I should tell her about this conundrum I found myself in.
“Busy,” I tell her instead. I’ve never been good at talking about my personal life. The few times I got asked out when I was in high school, I was embarrassed for anyone to find out, and I’d just have my dates meet me somewhere where we couldn’t run into either my mother or my brother.
“Busy is good,” my mother declares. “It means you’re not holed up in your little apartment. I’m glad you’re out and about.”
A soft chuckle escapes me. “Who said anything about me being out and about?”
“Oh…” She now sounds taken aback. “What are you busy doing then?”
I frown as I try to come up with something exciting that she would be proud of me for doing. Maybe I should’ve just let her believe that I was out and about , as she put it.
“Uh, just work.” I clear my throat a couple of times. “Things like that.”
“I see.” And now she sounds disappointed. That reminds me that I am the one who should be disappointed in her.
“Owen told me you don’t want us home for the holiday.” I go straight for the jugular because I got nothing to lose.
“What?” She actually laughs. “Why would he say that I don’t want you here?”
“He said you have plans with your friends.”
There’s sadness and just a bit of bitterness in my tone. I feel instantly bad about it. After all, she should be able to have a life outside her children, especially after all the sacrifices she made for us throughout the years.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh into the phone. “I had plans to drive back home, and now I’m confused about what I am supposed to do that weekend.”
Mom makes a small sound of understanding. “Owen told me you two are going to a party.”
“Yeah.” I sigh again. “We’ll see what happens with that.” I have already made up my mind that I’m not going if this Holidates deal falls through.
“It’ll be good for you, Zara.” She almost sounds like she’s chastising me. “There is life beyond you coming to see me every time you have time off.”
A knot forms in the back of my throat. “I thought you enjoyed that.”
She’s never indicated that I wasn’t welcome back. It became out tradition, something I heavily relied on. It gave me the stability I always seemed to crave.
“Zara, you know I always love seeing you, honey,” mom tells me. “But God forbid something happened to me, I need to know you would be able to go on with your life.”
My eyes fill with instant tears. “What’s wrong?”
My mother has been my rock over the years. Just the thought of something being wrong with her makes me sick to my stomach.
“There’s nothing wrong,” she tells me. “I promise.”
“Mom…”
“Zara,” she says, her tone firm. “Everything is fine. But I am so worried about you, my girl.”
I frown in confusion. “Why are you worried about me?”
Now, it is her turn to sigh, and I don’t know what to make of this.
“I’ve always fought for you kids to have the best life I could give you,” she starts.
“You did give us the best life, mom,” I rush to assure her, but she’s not done with me.
“In doing so,” she continues, “I fear that I might have encouraged all your phobias.”
I am at a complete loss. “I don’t have any phobias.”
“You are terrified of forming a meaningful connection with anyone new,” she informs me very matter-of-factly. “It’s called phobia of commitment. And I blame both myself and your father for that one.”
My lips tremble as I try to come up with something to say that would convince her that she’s wrong.
“You were so little when he left,” mom continues. “I tried to make up for him not being there for you. In doing that, I coddled you to the point where I don’t think you are capable of being in a relationship.”
I sniffle in my hand. “I don’t need to be in a relationship, mom. I’m happy on my own.”
“I know, honey.” She sounds much more emotional now. “But you’ve never experienced the kind of love a partner could give you.”
She is right about that. And, I have to be honest with myself and admit that I often wonder what that would be like. But she’s right. I am scared of it, terrified even.
“You had a partner who you thought loved you,” I remind her. “It didn’t end well.”
She chuckles at that, like she was expecting for me to bring it up.
“It gave me you and Owen,” she says in a much softer voice. “I wouldn’t trade that for anything in this world. I don’t regret one minute of it.”
My mother has always been the most affectionate person I know.
She never hid how much she loved me and my brother, nor did she ever spoke badly about our father, despite all the wrong he did to her.
Now I wonder if she’s telling me all this because deep down, she might regret having put her life on hold to raise us.
“Do you wish you had a boyfriend after dad left?” I force myself to ask.
“Well…” She lets out a nervous laugh. “I had my hands full at the time. I wouldn’t have been able to focus on another relationship.” She pauses for a second. “But now I can. And I do.”
“You do what?” It’s like she speaks to me in riddles.
“I do have a boyfriend,” she confesses. “I love every second of it. And I’ve been hiding it from you for a while.”
My mouth drops in shock. I realize how much she has been tiptoeing around me. Same with my brother. They’ve been trying to protect me and treat me like I was made of glass. And now they’re tired and need me to have a life so they can live theirs.
It’s a tough pill to swallow.