by Tilly Pope
“Okay, good,” I say, nodding my head. I’m trying to think of something more to say so I can stay here and talk to her a little longer.
“Anything else I can get ya?” she asks, and I swear there’s a hint of hope in her voice, like maybe she wants me to stay as well. Like, maybe she’s feeling a connection too.
“Uh,” I say, wracking my brain for something else to talk about, anything to keep me here.
I take a deep breath, and there’s so much anxious energy filling up inside me I must be visibly vibrating. “Look,” I say, shoving the grocery list in my pocket and running my hand through my hair. “Colleen,” reading her name off the tag affixed to her apron. “You’re nice... and pretty… and seem to know a lot about food. This might seem forward, considering we don’t know each other, but would you…would you like to go out with me sometime? Coffee? Dinner maybe?”
I exhale deeply, hoping I didn’t speak so quickly that she didn’t understand what I’d said, because there’s no way I can repeat that.
And then she says, “Sure. I’d like that.”
“Great,” I say, nodding my head and allowing my smile to grow to a socially acceptable width, but not so wide that I start to resemble The Joker. “Can I get your number and call you later?”
She nods and takes off her gloves. She draws out a pen and notebook from her pocket, rips out a clean sheet of paper and writes her number on it.
“I don’t get off for another hour, so if you text and I don’t answer, it’s because my phone is in my locker. It won’t be because I don’t want to talk to you, because I do,” she says.
I smile, glad that I’m not the only one struggling not to lose my cool.
“That’s fine. I have some more shopping to do anyway, so I’ll text you after dinner,” I say.
“What’re you going to have?” she asks, brightening up.
“Steak quesadillas.”
“Yum! Sounds good,” she says.
“Yeah, they are,” I answer. “So, talk to you soon?”
“Looking forward to it!”
I smile at her once more before turning around and walking away. As I approach the chip aisle, I realize I haven’t even told her my name. When I text her, it’s going to be a random number that she won’t recognize, and all I’ll be able to introduce myself as is “the guy who ordered the steak and sausage from you earlier.”
So, whirling back around, I clear my throat. She’s helping another customer, then she looks at me and raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Forgot to tell you my name,” I say with a sheepish look. “Aidan.”
“Oh! Uh, nice to meet you, Aidan. You already know my name,” she says, pointing to her tag and tapping her finger against it.
“Right. Text you later, Colleen,” I say, feeling much calmer now that I’ve fixed that.
I finish my shopping a few minutes later and head home.
It’s only when the quesadillas are finally cooking in the pan and I hear Dara’s car pulling into the driveway that I send her a text,
Hey it’s Aidan. Want to grab a coffee this weekend?
Hopefully, she’ll answer when she gets off work. My brothers and I finish up dinner and clean the dishes. They’re bitching about the shop and I can’t even wrap my head around it. I’m too busy thinking about Colleen. I wonder what she’s like at home. Probably a lot nicer and funnier than Ally. Cheating bitch. I hope I never see her again. Nowhere in Pythos. Not in my life. Or my dreams.
Damn! I can’t go out with Colleen. Not with this much pent up frustration about Ally. I need to get over her, first.
Colleen deserves someone who can put his full attention on her, not someone still in the throes of heartbreak.
I wouldn’t wish rebound sex on anyone, especially not a nice girl like her.
What was I thinking?
4
Colleen
I respond to Aidan’s text the second I walk into my house. I may also have done a little happy dance because I’m excited. This is the first time since Asher and I broke up that I’ve felt hopeful about my romantic prospects.
Of course, thinking of Asher immediately puts a damper on my mood, but I shove thoughts of him aside and take off my shoes and walk to the fridge. Inside there are leftovers from a new spicy pasta recipe I tried, and I grab a fork from the drawer and start eating, not even bothering to heat it up.
Thoughts of Asher cross my mind again as I’m eating, since he always loved spicy food. It was one of the first things we bonded over when we were both getting our chef certificates. We’d finish class and then find some hole-in-the-wall place to stuff ourselves, and L.A. was great for that. There were always new restaurants and neighborhoods to explore.
He broke up with me because I wouldn’t stay there with him, not after Grandma died and left me her house. He told me I should sell it and we could use the money to buy our own place in Hollywood, or somewhere equally cool. He hated the idea of moving to Pythos where there aren’t any 5-star restaurants.
But I knew I’d end up here. I might have moved to L.A., hoping to spend the rest of my twenties there, but I knew I’d come back to Pythos, eventually. Grandma told me years ago she was leaving the house to me. Hopefully, I’ll have a grandkid I can pass it on to someday and the tradition will continue.
My thoughts turn back to Aidan. I wonder how long he’s lived in Pythos. I can’t wait to have coffee with him. I have the weekend off, so if the date goes well and turns into dinner, and then a night of passionate lovemaking back at my place, I have the time. Not that I’m getting my hopes up or anything, but having a gorgeous man for the night sounds thrilling.
* * *
Annnnd…I do get my hopes up, which sucks, because three days later, he still hasn’t responded to my text…
“Yes! Saturday, 3pm, at the café on Smith?”
Was I too forward?
I shouldn’t even have time to think about all this with the amount of work I have. Between the early shifts at the store, blogging, and finishing up the recipe testing for the cookbook contest, I’m barely sleeping. Nearly every waking hour is occupied, and yet my brain still finds time to have a serious freak out about the possibility that I’ve screwed up my only chance with Pythos’ hottest bachelor.
Things finally come to a head on Friday when Robert pulls me aside and tells me I almost served real beef to a customer who ordered the vegan burgers we sell. This is a serious faux pas, and he suggests I spend the rest of the day in the back where I can get a grip.
“Colleen, what’s up with you? You’re not usually this careless,” Petey says from where he’s standing in front of the fridge, arranging the cuts of meat.
“I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all,” I tell him. I want to expand on that, to spill all my woes, but while Petey is a great guy, he’s not really who I would go to for romantic advice. I tried once, but he and his wife have been together for so long, he’s completely forgotten the rest of us single people have to go through hell to try to find that special someone.
Instead, I throw myself into work, letting the repetitive sound of the slicer as it cuts and slices put my mind into a meditative state. It works, and the rest of my shift flies by. I’m in such a good mood that I don’t even check my phone the minute I get to the locker room, as has been my habit for the last few days. Instead, I make the slow drive home, deciding to stop off at my favorite Thai place for their dinner special.
I don’t look at my phone until I’m getting ready for bed hours later, which is how I almost miss the text from Aidan.
“Hey, sorry for the radio silence. Lost my phone for a few days. Turns out I left it in a customer’s car! Anyway, would you mind moving coffee to next Saturday instead? My brother took off suddenly for a car show and I’m left doing all his detail work.”
I breathe deeper than I have in days as I slide back onto my pillows, a silly grin taking over my face. He wasn’t ghosting me. I wasn’t too eager. It wasn’t my fault at all!
I quickly type a reply, letting him know that next Saturday works fine, and that I’m glad he found his phone.
* * *
Over the next week, Aidan and I text nearly every day, about everything from our favorite food bloggers and Food Network shows to the best food and travel books we’ve read in the last year. He loves Anthony Bourdain as much as I do, which is good, because I can’t date a man who doesn’t appreciate the prowess of the late, great Tony.
I’m hesitant at first to tell him about my blog. The only other guy I’ve been on a date with this year took one look at it and asked why I was wasting my time writing it when food blogging has become so passé.
“It’s such a saturated field. Maybe you should just switch it to Instagram. That seems to be the best platform these days,” he’d told me on our third and final date.
But when I mention it to Aidan, he’s so excited he uses three emojis and more exclamation points than your average thirty-something-year-old man should, which makes him even more adorable. He even tries out a few of my recipes, making my favorite Pad Thai, and even my grandma’s chilaquiles. He sends me pictures of the finished dishes and says that Grandma’s chilaquiles are better than any he’s ever tried.
Aidan tells me he loves Cali-Mexican food, so I suggest that, instead of meeting for coffee this weekend, we meet for lunch. He readily agrees, and I suggest we meet at Chalupas at 2pm on Saturday. Two days away. Two days until I get to see him again!
* * *
Friday after work, I open my locker and fish my phone out of my bag. No texts. I send Aidan a quick hello, how are you message, and check that we’re still on for the next day.
Hours go by, during the time I drive home, make myself dinner, test two more recipes while I’m at it, and clean my kitchen. I avoid looking at my phone the entire time, waiting until I’ve put the vacuum back in the closet, then take the phone off the charger.
And just like that, all my smiles and pleasant mood from the past week fly out the window, replaced by a growing sense of dread. He’s ghosting me. Wonderful Aidan who loves cooking, Anthony Bourdain, and who seems so perfect for me is a ghost.
A part of me hopes he’s just busy, but when I check my phone again, he hasn’t responded. Our date must be cancelled, my mood is crappy, I have a cookbook to finish, and no desire to do anything.
5
Aidan
Thank God it’s Friday. It’s been a shitty week.
I don’t remember leaving my phone sitting on the tool chest in the corner of the shop. A tool chest I haven’t used in at least a month, but there it sits.
I thought I’d lost my phone over a week ago, and honestly, I didn’t care. The only thing I use it for is to text my brothers anyway, and considering I see them every day, it’s not a big deal.
I even thought I might not replace it. I’d save myself the humiliation of texting girls I shouldn’t be with and avoid Brodie’s stupid videos altogether. Win-win situation.
I stare at the phone, but no matter how long I look at the messages, I can’t make sense of what’s going on.
I’m surprised it still has any battery left, but as I scroll through the texts, I notice something weird. Emojis. I never use them, and honestly, I find them annoying. I don’t want to have to search through a thousand little cartoon faces to find a picture that adequately expresses how I’m feeling. It’s stupid and a total waste of time.
But Dara loves to use them. I scroll through the texts again, and I realize what he’s done. I’m disgusted to read and re-read that he’s asked Colleen out on a date on my behalf…for tomorrow!
What the fuck?
Is he planning to impersonate me on this date? We might be brothers, but Dara and I don’t look remotely enough alike for her to mistake him for me. I’m confused and getting angrier by the second as I stomp through the door of Dara’s workshop. My brothers are clustered around the counter, digging into the burgers Dara picked up for our lunch.
“Hey! Got your double bacon with extra pickles and extra-large fries, though you better eat them quick before Mr. Piggy eats them all,” Dara says, gesturing at Brodie.
“Fuck the fries. What the fuck have you been doing with my phone? Did you send these texts?” I ask, storming toward him and picking up a bag of screws that I throw at his head. He ducks and catches them with one hand, his other still holding his burger.
As he lowers his hand, I see his face and the expression on it is a mix of guilt and amusement. He looks pleased with himself. That makes me want to deck him. I clench my fist at my side, but wait for him to speak, giving him a chance to explain himself.
“Before you freak out on me, let me explain,” Dara says, putting down his burger and holding his hands up in defense.
“Fine,” I bark out. “Go ahead.”
“We have the same phone and I accidentally took yours instead of mine to a visit at the high school last week when they called me over to fix their SmartBoard. I didn’t realize it was yours until it buzzed, and I saw a notification from a girl named Colleen.”
“Okay…and?” I say, waiting for him to get to the meat and potatoes. So far nothing he’s said is making me any less angry.
“When I realized it was your phone, I swear I was going to give it back to you, but when I got back to the shop, I recognized the name and number. They looked familiar, so I checked my database and saw it was Colleen Mathers, the cute girl from the grocery store. She brought her coffeemaker in here a week or so ago to get fixed.”
“So fucking what?” I say, angrily, then he takes a bite of his burger and continues.
“She’s perfect for you, Aidan,” he says, with a mouth full of burger. “She’s into food, she’s friendly, and she’s fucking hot. I’ve talked to her a few times at the meat counter and when she brought her coffeemaker in here, I just thought it was crazy of you to ignore her without even giving things a chance. I mean, you’ve been alone for a while now, and I know Ally hurt you bad, but—”
“But, what? You fucking impersonated me? You texted her, pretending to be me?” I interrupt, and I’m seething inside.
“Yeah. I was going to show you the texts today and convince you to go on the date with her tomorrow. I put your phone back on that tool chest so you’d find it. Connor and Brodie were in on it, too,” Dara says, shooting our brothers beseeching looks, hoping for support.
“It’s true,” Connor says. “You need to get back out there again, Aidan. Sitting at home, burying your sorrow in books and Mom’s quesadillas isn’t going to help you. We want you to be happy… like me and Alana, and I know you’re capable of that. You were happy before. Be happy again, ‘cause, bro, I’m tired of the grumpy ass bastard you’ve become.”
“I second that. I know deception isn’t the best way to start a relationship, but we had to do something. We’re worried about you, dude. If you don’t start dating again and get some positive romantic experiences under your belt, you’re going to stay grumpy and single forever,” Brodie says, scratching the back of his neck.
It makes me feel a little better. At least he copped to what he did. Connor and Dara, however, look perfectly satisfied with themselves; like they don’t care at all that they’ve been meddling, not only in my life, but Colleen’s as well. They don’t realize they’re setting her up for rejection and disappointment that she doesn’t deserve.
“In case any of you have forgotten, I’m a grown man,” I say. “I can make my own decisions about my love life, and if I decide I don’t want to date a girl, I don’t need any of my nosy brothers trying to convince me otherwise.”
I step forward, grab the food bag marked Aidan and stalk out of the room. I’ll eat my burger in Connor’s office where it’s quiet and none of these idiots will bother me. There’s no way I’m going on a date with Colleen tomorrow. I’m not the happy-go-lucky, emoji and exclamation point kind of guy in those texts.
Dara may have gotten my favorite food blogs, cooking shows, and chefs right, but he didn’t get the real
me down in those texts. I’m a jaded, grumpy bastard who’s perfectly content to spend the rest of his life alone.
I’m not going on that date with her at all. The guy she’s expecting isn’t the one who’ll show up. Dara has crafted a much better version of me in those texts, but the original doesn’t compare.
I don’t want to see Colleen’s beautiful face fall into a frown when she realizes she’s stuck on a date with the real me. No way in hell will I let that happen.
6
Colleen
The date didn’t happen... obviously. I had a secret hope that I’d wake up on Saturday morning to a text from Aidan explaining his silence, but when none came, I wasn’t surprised. It was too good to be true. I should’ve known that from the start. I’ve never dated anyone that similar to me, or that gorgeous before. It was a pipe dream, plain and simple.
Thankfully, the cookbook proposal is due the Monday after what would have been our date, and I’m so busy putting the finishing touches on my submission that I barely have time to think about him...much.
I’ll admit he enters my thoughts now and again, but I’ve saved testing the bread recipes until last, so I can take out my frustration on the dough. I knead it fiercely while I make several loaves. The best is the focaccia recipe, which requires me to throw the dough onto the counter. I imagine it's Aidan’s head I’m throwing the dough at. His stupidly gorgeous face getting smacked repeatedly with a gooey mixture of flour, water and yeast. It helps.
* * *
I still went to Chalupas by myself on Saturday and ate chilaquiles. The combination of soft tortilla, runny fried egg, and spicy salsa was a perfect balm for my heartache. I’ve been eating them non-stop ever since, reciting Grandma’s recipe as I crumble the soft cheese onto the dish. Her voice in my head is so soothing, and I miss her more this week than I have in a long time.
