Chapter 11
First Date Blues
Another morning and Steve is at my desk. It’s getting to be a pattern.
“Hi, Cora,” they say.
Looking up, immediately I notice something is different. Their hair has been cut into a textured crop, short at the sides and back. The topknot is no more.
I hide my surprise with cheerfulness. “Nice haircut. It looks good on you.” And it does. Without the weight of its length dragging it down, their hair is bouncier, somehow fuller. Their jawline appears more chiselled. They look less like a teen playing at being an adult and more like a grown-up.
“I’m glad you like it,” they say.
But my attention is cut short. From Anders's office comes a giggle, followed by a deep chuckle. Scarlett is in with him and it’s enough to get my hackles up. I’m so distracted I miss what Steve is saying.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.” I trot out the excuse, one ear listening for more girlish laughter.
“I said, ‘Would you like to get a coffee together sometime?’”
My attention snaps back to Steve. Is it a date? Are they asking me on a date? That’s unexpected. Although Steve has been hovering on the brink for so long, I was certain they’d never get up the courage. And they pick now to ask me? When I’m more confused about Anders than ever.
I stall. “As in coffee outside of work?”
They smile. “Coffee outside of work,” they confirm with a little nod for emphasis.
Scarlett’s titter comes once more, again followed by Anders’s full-bodied guffaw. It’s very distracting.
I pull my focus back to Steve as suspicion creeps in. Have they cut their hair because of me? I truly hope not. It would be a sign their interest is far, far greater than mine.
I’ve obviously been silent too long. “Well?” they prompt.
But they deserve a chance to present themselves. What harm could one date do? As Scarlett giggles again, I make my decision. “I can only do Sunday afternoon. And I may have to cancel at short notice if my ex doesn’t pick up our daughter.”
“I get it,” they say.
“I’m sorry. I have to be careful because of Effie.” The explanation is unnecessary, but I make it anyway. It’s better if my priorities are clear from the start.
“You can set the pace. Whatever you need.” They look so sincere and earnest, I almost backtrack. What if I end up breaking their heart?
The door to Anders’s office opens. Steve glances toward it and then back at me. “So, Sunday? I’ll text you a location.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say with more enthusiasm than I feel.
Scarlett emerges as Steve heads to their own desk. I watch them rather than the simpering show going on beside me. Was that an air punch? Did Steve just punch the air? What have I done?
I turn and wish I hadn’t. Scarlett is getting more brazen. She’s touching Anders, her hand resting on his bicep. It feels deliberate. My eyes flick to Anders but he’s impossible to read. I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable or unaffected. I feel my jaw tightening.
One moment he’s proposing to me, and the next he’s flirting with her. Suddenly I’m glad I accepted Steve’s invitation.
I pull a paper from the pile on my desk and thrust it in Anders’s face. “This is what you asked for,” I tell him shortly.
He recoils a little to avoid a paper cut on his nose. Scarlett’s hand drops away as he flinches.
“Ah, thanks.” Anders looks from me to Scarlett and back again before giving a slight nod. “Can you give me the TLDR?”
I blink. “It’s four graphs. You can’t get much shorter.”
His eyes fix on me. I steel myself and stare right back. Scarlett steps away from us, edging around my desk.
“Try,” he growls.
“Fine. Your testing schedule will overrun. Every time.”
“Shit,” he says, and takes the paper I’m brandishing in front of his face. Behind me, I hear the clatter of Scarlett’s ridiculous heels as she totters away.
Anders breaks our eye wrestle and ducks back into his office. I win.
I’m grumpy all morning and I can’t seem to shake it. When lunch comes around, I hurry into the break room, praying Rob is too busy to leave his desk because I really need some girl-talk. Ginny is there before me. Since her split with Piotr, she minimises time at her desk.
“I think I’ve done something stupid.” I drop into the chair beside her and put my head in my hands.
“Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than dating your arsehole boss.” She gives a long sniff.
“I agreed to a date with Steve.”
Ginny's face is expressive. Surprise is followed by cautiousness. “Good for you. But I didn’t think you liked them that way?” Then her brow furrows. “And why is it stupid?”
“I do like them but I’m not sure. I’m worried they’re keener on me than I am on them.”
She leans forward. “Better that way around than the other. Believe me.”
“You two look like you’re plotting the overthrow of a small country.” Nur pulls out a chair adjacent to me and Chloe sits opposite.
“Cora’s got a date.” Ginny’s eyes shine as she delivers the news. I guess it must be good to have the gossip cannon pointed elsewhere for a change.
“Who with?” Nur asks.
Ginny looks at me. “Steve,” I sigh and Nur claps her hands together.
“So, the haircut worked!” she says.
I turn to look at her and ask, “How do you know about their haircut? Have you seen Steve this morning?”
“Haircut?” Ginny asks.
“The topknot is gone,” I reply.
“Shame,” Ginny says. “I rather liked it.”
“You did?” My reaction is akin to someone saying they like gnarly toes. Attraction is a strange beast. “They’re much better looking without it. Much more handsome. Manlier.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Ginny says. “You do realise they’re gender fluid.”
“Yes, of course.”
“But everything you’re saying is forcing them into heteronormativity.
That’s not them. If you want that, date someone like…
,” she casts around for an alpha male example in this well-spring of diversity and unconventionality, “… Anders. Heck, even Piotr, if you’re happy to be thrown aside like last week’s lottery ticket. ”
I stare at Ginny. My own doubts about dating Steve spring from the imbalance in attraction.
But Ginny is right. We aren’t on the same page.
If I’m honest, I want someone a bit like my dad, but better looking.
Interesting, caring, family friendly but ultimately masculine.
And if I put Steve against Anders, Anders would win every time.
“Shit,” I say. “I should cancel this date.”
“Don’t you dare,” Nur glares at me. “They’ve cut their hair off for a chance of a date with you. You owe them that chance, no matter how slim. People can surprise you.”
“She owes them nothing. She didn’t ask them to cut their hair.” Ginny is unexpectedly forceful on the subject.
I rub my fingers across my forehead. Both of them are right. Steve deserves a fair chance, and I don’t owe Steve anything.
“I’m not suggesting she shag them senseless in a back alley. They’ve asked for, what? Coffee?” Nur says.
I nod.
“An hour in a coffee shop. Two tops. No kissing, no hand holding. Just chat. Far away from here. It should be obvious to both of you if it’s not going to work.”
She has a point. And what else am I going to do? Ironing? Steve’s good company. I’m unlikely to be bored. And hey, Mike might not even turn up.
“Fine,” I say. Ginny is obviously still in disagreement, a reversal of her earlier position but she says nothing. The subject is dropped.
I’m still not sure I’m doing the right thing when Sunday rolls around.
Effie is waiting with me, trying so hard not to get her hopes up.
I suggest watching cartoons, but she refuses to be distracted.
She knows he’s due, and she’s sitting at the window with her bird-watching binoculars.
The clock ticks around to the agreed time and keeps going. We wait. He’s never on time.
Then she leaps up, all smiles and cries, “Daddy!”
I hide my anger. Mike doesn’t deserve her love, but he gets it anyway. Effie deserves love and affection, and a father who is always there for her. Not this pathetic excuse for one. But he will always be her dad, and we just have to deal with it.
Mike doesn’t pay me any attention as he says, “Come on, my girl. I’m starving. How about a Maccie Ds?”
And Effie, who’s had her lunch and is increasingly refusing to eat cute animals, says, “Ooh, yes!”
I close the door behind them and wait ten minutes to be sure I don’t run into them as I leave.
I use the time to swipe on some make-up before I give one final check in the mirror and head off for my date.
I wish I could say I was nervous, but I’m not.
I’m anxious and that isn’t the same thing at all.
I’m worried about Steve and, irritatingly, I’m worried about Anders.
When Anders asked me his usual question about my weekend plans, I fudged my reply and failed to mention Steve.
Which turned out not to be a great decision, as Steve swung by my desk on their way out to remind me of our arrangement.
“See you Sunday,” they said with a wave as they walked past. “Message if anything crops up.”
Only Anders was standing right beside me, and I refused to meet his eyes.
I had every right to see Steve but somehow, I feel like I’m cheating on Anders.
And even though I turned down his offer of marriage, and there has never been a romantic affair between us, I still feel a connection to him. Like we are separated but not done.
“What’s happening Sunday?” Anders's tone was mild, barely interested, but I didn’t look up. I couldn’t.
“We’re getting coffee.” I said the words in as offhand a manner as I could manage.
“Is it a date?” he asked.
“It’s coffee,” I re-iterated. “And your call with Animation starts in two minutes.”
I left while he was in his virtual meeting.
Now as I walk to the place Steve suggested, I feel uneasy.
I can’t ever remember it being this way before, a decade ago.
Yes, I was younger, more optimistic but first dates were always humming with excitement.
Nerves came from the tantalising hope that he’d kiss you at the end, not the hope they don’t.
I stop outside the coffee shop. It’s a Turkish patisserie.
The cakes are lined up in the window, traditional honey-soaked baklava beside more Westernised staples like brownies and lemon meringue tarts.
Steve is there before me, their phone in their hand.
I’d sent them my arrival time after Effie left so they know I’m on my way.
I’m glad to see they’ve chosen a table for two rather than a sofa where we would be side by side, thigh to thigh.
With one last fortifying intake of breath, I push through the doors.
Steve stands as soon as they see me, asks for my order and goes to the counter to place it.
By the time they get back, a steaming latte in one hand and a slice of revani, a semolina cake soaked in orange blossom syrup, in the other, I’m feeling more composed.
We’re two friends, having coffee, seeing if we want to take things further.
From the relaxed way they chatted to the barista, I would guess they’re a regular. They put their own untouched cake in front of them and take a mouthful, encouraging me to do the same.
“That’s good.” I point to the cake with my fork. “Do you want a bite?” I say, because I feel I have to offer. But I’m relieved when they decline. Sharing food feels too intimate.
Steve opens the chat. “So, your daughter got off okay?” they ask.
And the conversation is easy. After all, I already know where they work and what they do. I even know where they live and how much they’re paid but we stay away from work talk. They ask as many questions about me as I do about them.
At one point, there’s a lull. I drop my eyes to the table and notice their tattoos. At work, Steve always wears a shirt, but weekend Steve is rocking a T-shirt, sleeves pushed up. After working in a game studio for years, the shapes look vaguely familiar.
“Are they significant?” I indicate the patterns on their wrists.
They pause for a minute. Then say, “When I was thirteen, I tried to take my own life. The tattoos hide the scars. This one is the dragon born symbol from Skyrim and this,” they rotate their right wrist, “is the Elden Ring. Those games quite literally saved my life.”
And in that moment, it’s crystal clear how wrong I am, how selfish I’m being. I want to cover their hands with mine, show them how touched I am they’ve shared this, but I resist. Now I know, there is no room for mixed messages.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “That must have been a very hard time. I hope things are better now.”
They look down at their coffee cup. “They are. I got help. Not everyone does.”
We move on to talk about games they love but as I can’t reciprocate, they switch to films and TV series.
They really will make someone an excellent partner, considerate, and a great conversationalist. But as the designated end point for Mike’s access rolls around, I know I have to address the elephant hiding under the table.
I make sure to look up and hold their eyes.
I’ve never noticed before but there are tiny flecks of gold in their hazel irises.
It’s unusual but attractive, really the epitome of Steve.
“I’ve had a lovely afternoon,” I begin and I see hope flare.
But I continue, “So thank you. I want you to know I think you are a truly wonderful person.
But while I really value our friendship, that's all I want it to be.”
Steve sits for a moment. Their Adam’s apple bobs as they swallow. Then they nod. “I value our friendship too.” They manage a weak smile.
I leave the café and walk rapidly down the street, resolving I will never go on another date with anyone from work.