Chapter 2 Marsh #4
“I have so many friends like you,” she starts. “There’s this pressure to find someone that checks all the boxes. If you approach dating like I do…and instead of looking for Miss Right you look for Miss Right Now, you’ll never be disappointed.”
I give her an unimpressed look. “Please don’t put that in your next story.”
“You laugh but I’m telling you!” she insists. “You just need to either expand your horizons or lower your standards.”
“Is that what you’ve done?” I raise an eyebrow.
“No,” she says pointedly. “Women can’t afford to lower their standards.”
“How old are you?” I ask. Yes, you should never ask a woman how old they are, but I’m starting to believe Lucy’s age influences her perception of relationships.
“Twenty-nine,” she says. She’s older than I was expecting. “And you’re…forty?”
“Ouch,” I say. “Thirty-six.”
“Okay, pretty much the same thing,” she affirms.
“It’s actually really not the same thing.”
“But seriously”—she looks at me intently—“I think once you put yourself out there, you’ll see there are a lot of people who just want something casual and don’t expect a relationship. And unfortunately, those men and women are the ones who give dating a bad name.”
“I think if most women were as easy to talk to as you, then dating could be easier,” I say and immediately kick myself for how forward it sounds.
Lucy looks down and takes another sip of her martini. “I think I might lose my job.”
I heard her correctly, but I don’t understand. “Why do you say that?”
“Because my readers don’t find me relatable anymore?
” She says it like she’s not entirely convinced.
“My stories are mostly about being single. I want to write about the stage of your life that’s dating and having casual sex.
But apparently people want to read about being committed…
So if I don’t start writing about relationships, I think I’m going to lose my job. ”
“I mean, I get it,” I say, and Lucy gives me an unimpressed look. “As someone who came out of a nine-and-a-half-year relationship, I know it’s tough. I understand why people would want to know how to navigate their own.”
“We’ve been brainwashed to romanticize having one partner and getting married,” Lucy says. “You know, women in relationships that write to me or comment on any of my stories are all terrified.”
“Of what?”
“That they aren’t entirely fulfilled with their partners,” she tells me.
“They wonder if they made the right choice, if there’s someone else out there that’s better for them.
Do you know what all the articles I’ll be writing are about?
‘How to Please Your Partner in the Bedroom’; ‘How to Keep Your Relationship Interesting’; ‘Help, Why Do I Hate My Boyfriend?’ ” Lucy lists off hypothetical titles.
“All of these things can be solved if a person becomes confident being single, knows what they want sexually, and isn’t dependent on any other person.
We’ve just been indoctrinated to prioritize our romantic relationships over the relationships we have with ourselves. ”
“So why don’t you write about that?” I ask.
“About what?” She looks at me. “That it’s better to be single and that casually dating is the answer to everything?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “You clearly have a strong opinion about it, and if you need to write about relationships then why not write about the real side of it: the messy side. Why you shouldn’t be in a relationship.”
Lucy lets out a laugh like the idea is absolutely nuts. “I don’t know if that will fly. They want to sell the idea of being in love, being happy.”
“Well, maybe there’s a way you can kill two birds with one stone,” I offer. “I’ve only known you for an hour and I’m confident you’ll figure it out.”
The corner of Lucy’s mouth curls and she takes a final sip of her martini.
“Here.” She pulls out her phone and opens a new contact. “If you ever need someone to talk to, or vent to, or share a horrid dating story with, I’m a text away.”
My head feels a little fuzzy from the alcohol and the overstimulation of music and scents.
For a moment I hesitate, wondering if opening a line of communication like this is a good idea.
But Lucy is the kind of person I’ve never had in my life, and I like that.
I like her. I reach for my back pocket, and we swap phones.
I start typing my name and number into hers. As she does the same with mine, my eyes quickly travel from the top of her head down to her jeans and pointed heels. I catch a glimpse of a flower-type tattoo on the side of her foot.
“Thanks,” I say, passing her phone back.
“Well, I should be the one thanking you,” she says. “A guy coming out of a long-term relationship who’s just looking for a plus-one to his ex’s wedding? This is all great material for a new story.” My face collapses and she bursts out in a giggle. “I’m kidding, Marsh! God, have some faith in me.”
“You’re actually not funny at all.” I take a final swig of my beer as we head toward the door.
“Oh please.” She nudges my arm with her shoulder. “You can’t get enough of me.”
Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.