Never Too Soon

by Tamika Christy

  “Auntie, what is happening with you guys?” Anaya asked. “You guys used to be so in love.”

  Marie sighed. “Girl, if I knew, I would fix it. Things just changed. Allen stopped being spontaneous and turned into someone I can hardly live with.”

  “That’s what happened in my first marriage.” Wanda sighed. “One day the fire went out, and we just couldn’t get it back.” She gazed off. “I used to blame it all on him, but I realize I had a part in it too.”

  “Why does that happen?” Catie asked. “Why are guys one way in the beginning and then they change?”

  “I don’t know.” Marie swirled her wine. Anaya rarely saw her so contemplative. “It’s like they get comfortable and forget that it still takes work to keep us interested.” She stood up. “Look at me. I work damn hard on this body. I’m the same size I was when Allen met me twenty-five years ago. I keep this body tight. And look at him.”

  “Auntie,” Anaya warned. It wasn’t fair to bash Uncle Allen.

  “Seriously,” Marie said. “He drinks all that beer and carries that spare tire around. I don’t like looking at that. What if I let my body go? He would be buying me all kind of Jenny Craig snacks.” She plopped back down in her seat.

  “It’s not all about looks,” Anaya said, trying to calm Marie.

  “But it kinda is,” Catie jumped in. “The same things that attract you to a person are the things they should keep. If you meet someone and they have a six-pack, they should at least try to maintain it. I think that works both ways.”

  “Excuse me?” Wanda said. “I am almost sixty years old. God bless you, Marie, and whatever genes you have, but this body will never look like it did twenty-five years ago. Whatever man that is lucky enough to get me better appreciate that. What you see is what you get. And while I don’t have a six-pack, I have a heart of gold. I love hard and I make the best lasagna this side of the Mississippi.”

  “Word,” Sophie said. “I get where you are coming from, Aunt Marie. Looks can change at the drop of a hat. Like, what if your face gets burned in a fire?”

  “Or someone accidentally pours acid on your face.” Catie smirked.

  Ava giggled. “Or your eyebrows fall out.”

  “Or you get a thyroid disorder and gain uncontrollable weight?” Troy added.

  Marie scoffed. “None of that stuff is going to happen. And it’s not just the looks, it’s the effort. Allen won’t even try to go to the gym or eat right. It gets on my nerves.” She frowned like she smelled something funky.

  “You get no sympathy from me,” Wanda said, shaking her head. “Allen is nice, he works hard, he takes care of you and those kids, and I never heard him complain or say a mean word to you—ever.”

  “Word,” Sophie said again. “No one is perfect, but Uncle Allen seems cool to me. What I want to know is why a guy meets a good woman and it’s not enough? Like, why do they still want to see other people? What are they looking for?”

  “Someone better,” Marie said matter-of-factly.

  “What do you mean?” Sophie asked.

  Marie sighed. “Men are always looking to see if there is something better out there. Women are different. When we like somebody, we will go to the ends of the earth to make that person ours. We will dress them, teach them new words, buy them teeth if we have too. We do what we can. Men aren’t like that. They’re always on the hunt for the next best thing, even if they aren’t worthy. Men always want women who are out of their league. It makes them feel better about themselves. Think about how many unattractive powerful men you see with beautiful wives.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Anaya said, frowning. Carl was nothing like that. But he wasn’t hers anymore. Don’t think about him now, you might start crying.

  “It sounds ridiculous,” Sophie said. “But there may be some truth to it. Especially these Bay Area men. I mean, are they allergic to commitment? I’m a relatively good catch—”

  “You are a damn good catch,” Catie corrected.

  “Okay, thanks,” Sophie said. “But I can’t meet a decent guy to save my life. And when I meet someone promising, he doesn’t want to commit. Or he doesn’t have a job. Or he’s in the ‘music business.’” She used air quotes.

  “Or he has kids,” Catie said.

  “I just can’t catch a break. Why do so many men have kids and are not married or in the relationship with the person they procreated with? What is that even about?” Sophie was exasperated. “I don’t want to start a relationship with you and your baby and your baby mama and her son by someone else that you claim because his daddy isn’t around. I just can’t.”

  “Maybe you should stop looking,” Wanda offered. “Maybe there are some other things you need to work out first. Life has a way of speaking to us and making us slow down.”

  “I keep telling her that,” Catie said. “She definitely has some stuff to work out. A man will come eventually.” Catie looked up at the ceiling. “Excuse the pun.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes.

  “I think as hard as it is for us to figure out men, it’s just as hard for them to figure us out,” Wanda said sagely.

  “Now that’s a word right there,” Marie said. “You better tell the truth, Wanda.”

  “We also have to remember to be accountable for our actions. It takes two people to make a thing go right.” Wanda looked at Marie. “We gotta get our priorities straight, ladies. Can’t say we want a good man and we aren’t willing to be a good woman. We want a man in a Tesla but we are driving a broken down Prius with bad credit. We want a man with a good job and we are still over here trying to make up credits to get our degree. We have to be willing to bring something to the table as well. We also have to learn early on to read the signs.”

  “What do you mean?” Anaya asked.

  “Well, if you meet a guy and catch him in a lie right away—red flag. If he won’t let you visit his place and he’s visited yours half a dozen times—red flag. Just don’t set yourself up is all I’m saying. Check yourself before you catch feelings. That way, you can walk away easily. We can all have a man if we want to, the question is, do you want a good man or just a man?”

  Anaya found herself lost in thought. Too many times Carl had told her his friends thought she was too good for him. She’d asked him the reason for their incorrect theory and he always shrugged it off with “You are different from other girls I’ve dated.” She chose to take that as a compliment. She chalked it up to the reason they were so chilly towards her. In the end she tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter if his friends didn’t like her, but in fact it did. She was starting to wonder if maybe Carl was the one who was too good for her. He knew what he wanted, he was ready for commitment, and he didn’t care what anybody else thought. Anaya didn’t have the same emotional girth. And then there was Jeff. How could she be with Carl knowing Jeff was an option? She couldn’t make Carl her second choice again—that wasn’t fair. He deserved so much better. She rubbed her temples.

  “Ny, are you okay?” Ava asked, bringing Anaya out of her thoughts.

  “Yeah,” Anaya said too quickly. “Just thinking about what to do with the extra food.” It wasn’t good to be such a quick liar, but sometimes it was helpful. “Catie, you stay right there. Everyone else, let’s finish cleaning up.”

  TWENTY THREE

  Sophie felt as amazing as she looked in a fitted cotton dress, strappy sandals, and flawless makeup. Her curls cascaded around her shoulders, the way she preferred, and she wore her favorite diamond studs. She circled the block four times before finding a spot within walking distance of the Yard House restaurant. Phil was from the South Bay, and she had agreed to drive out his way. If things didn’t work out, she could always hit up Santana Row for some shopping.

  She grabbed her wool jacket and checked her matte lipstick. Although she told herself this date wasn’t about Jabari not returning her calls, it actually was. All of his talk about falling asleep and forgetting to call, working overtime, and helpi
ng out his family with chores was getting tiring. Wanda was right. If someone wanted to spend time with you, they made time. Regardless of whatever else was going on, Jabari would have made time if he wanted to. She wanted to text him and curse him out, but she didn’t. She was going to be cool. If he didn’t want her, fine. She couldn’t force him. And if he wanted to go through his adult life lying to people and being disingenuous, then more power to him. This would be her opportunity to see what Phil was all about.

  Sophie had met Phil online the same time she met Jabari, but brushed Phil off when she and Jabari connected. She was pleasantly surprised to see Phil was still available when she logged back into her account after Jabari went AWOL. She didn’t typically allow face-to-face dating so soon after meeting online, but she was a woman scorned and a woman scorned was unpredictable and careless.

  Yard House was full, as expected. She looked around the waiting area and saw only families and couples. She rechecked her phone to see if Phil had called. Maybe he was late or had changed his mind about coming. She moved aside to let a short man with a limp pass. She took a seat next to the door and pretended to be interested in the football game like everybody else.

  “Sophie?” The stunted man had circled back and stopped. Sophie looked around. Perhaps there was someone else with that name. Maybe the tall lady in all black? Or the blonde with the thick glasses and Raiders jersey? Please Lord, let him be looking for another Sophie.

  “I’m Phil.”

  Of course he was. As many times as she talked about the rules of online dating, she hadn’t followed them this time. Phil, the six-foot ardent golf player and college basketball star, was nothing more than this diminutive dude with plaid pants and preferential parking privileges. His pasty hair was brushed to one side like Jidenna. His earrings didn’t match, and his yellow-and-blue polka dot tie clashed terribly with his britches. His smile was crooked, he used a cane, and he had clearly embellished his height in his profile.

  The waitress offered them a table near the center of the restaurant, but Sophie asked for a booth in the back, near the kitchen. Phil protested, but she was having none of it. She didn’t owe him anything. Especially after tricking her. Getting through dinner would be her charitable gesture of the year. She followed the waitress to their table and prayed she didn’t see anybody she knew.

  Phil was a challenge on the eyes, but Sophie quickly found he knew a lot about psychology and therapy—two of her favorite topics. Apparently starting therapy had really helped him deal with his issues. Occasionally he said something that interested her, like how he used toothpicks to get over his social anxiety, but for the most part, she spaced.

  When he started talking abut the new Warriors stadium, she stifled a yawn.

  “It’s going to be hard to get to that stadium. No p-parking and the prices are going to g-go up,” he said.

  Sophie raised an eyebrow. She only went to Warriors’ games when her father was in town, and they always sat courtside. “Yep, I guess that’s true. The only sports team Oakland will have is the As. The Raiders will be in Vegas soon too.”

  “That’s right. Man. Oakland won’t be the s-same.”

  “Well, it’s not the same now. It’s overpriced, has failing schools, and random white people feel entitled to call the police on black people picnicking.”

  “Oh, wow. Okay. Tell me how you really f-feel.” Phil laughed and picked at something on the right side of his chin. “It’s g-getting like that here in the S-south Bay. Gran-Gran and I live in Menlo Park right now, but we lived in East Palo Alto for years. They drove us all out. Built that huge Ikea and some other s-stuff. Offered Gran-Gran a lot of money to buy her house and she took it. Now when I go back, I hardly r-r-recognize the area.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s an epidemic,” Sophie said. If she squinted, maybe Phil wasn’t so bad looking. She opened her eyes again. Yes, he was.

  When the waitress came to take their order, Sophie realized Phil had more than physical issues. She ordered a salad while Phil squinted at the menu for too long and finally asked about the enchiladas.

  “We have pork, chicken, and cheese,” the waitress said impatiently.

  “What do you mean? Don’t all enchiladas come with ch-ch-ch-cheese?”

  Sophie hid behind the menu.

  “That meat loaf looks good, but why do you put bleach on the vegetables? That could k-kill somebody! You should j-just use a vegetable wash like Gran-Gran.”

  “The vegetables aren’t bleached, they are blanched.” The waitress didn’t hide her irritation.

  Phil squinted at the menu again. “Oh, that’s an ‘n.’ Oh, okay. I s-see. Blanched vegetables. Okay. And I see you have linguine. Cool, cool.”

  “Those are langoustines,” the waitress said.

  “I see.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “You know this entire menu, huh, smarty-pants? All right, what is this right here?” He pointed.

  “Tilapia.”

  “Ah, okay. That’s some kind of steak, right? Probably a center cut. That’s one thing about me, I know my b-beef.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Sophie.

  “It’s fish.”

  Sophie felt no sympathy for him or his sub-par reading ability. After he finally ordered chicken strips, Phil took a dive into his life story and ventured to places Sophie wasn’t interested in learning about. He had been in rehab like Sophie, never knew his father, and hated his speech impediment. The waitress brought over their food as he told her about his first colonic.

  “I have to go back tomorrow,” he explained. “They said for the cleansing to really work, I should come a minimum of three times.” He didn’t notice Sophie’s subtle gag. He talked for another fifteen minutes before he came up for air. Whatever rapport they had established in the beginning of their dinner was now gone.

  “Wow, you, uh, have a lot going on, Phil.” Sophie wondered if he would stop talking if she stabbed herself with the butter knife on the table. Probably not.

  “Yep,” he said.

  “Not much time for dating or relationships I’m sure.” She took a bite of salad.

  “Oh, no, I am def-definitely looking for a life partner,” Phil said. He smiled flirtatiously. “T-two is better than one.” He put up two fingers for emphasis. “Would m-my situation be a problem for you?”

  “Would your situation be a problem for me?” She repeated, tilting her head curiously. Surely he was kidding, but she sought clarity just in case. “Are you talking about the fact that you live with your grandmother, your infertility, or the Hep-C?”

  “Yes. I m-mean, would any of that s-s-stop you from pursuing a r-relationship with me?”

  Yes, and about twenty-five other things, including your missing bicuspid, your right eye that refuses to comply with your left one, and your plastered-down hair.

  “Yes, they would likely play a factor.” She gazed down at a few grains of salt on the table.

  He started on again about his life while Sophie slowly ate her salad, taking care to chew thoroughly. He had worked at a bank after high school and was on the VP track until he had an accident in a golf cart that disabled him. But he was a trooper and completed physical therapy. On and on he went. He talked so much that Sophie checked out for ten minutes and he didn’t notice. The server came to refill their drinks, and he asked her to take a photo of them.

  “My phone is dead. Can she take it on your ph-phone?” he asked. Sophie gave the server her phone and looked away as she took the photo. The waitress didn’t offer a re-take.

  “Be sure to send that t-to me.”

  Not going to happen.

  Once she had finished her salad, it was time to get down to business. “Why did you misrepresent yourself online?” Sophie asked directly.

  He rocked back like she had slapped him, then hung his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Phil, you can’t mislead people that way. When someone views your profile, they are looking for you, not pictures of your favorite athlete.”

  “I know I
shouldn’t have lied.” He looked up pleadingly. “But if I p-post pictures of myself, I won’t get girls like you to contact m-me.”

  “Maybe you don’t need a girl like me. You don’t even know me.”

  “I know you are beautiful.”

  “Well, thank you. But whether I’m beautiful or not, you tricked me into coming here, and that’s not right. It’s dishonest, and even if I were interested in you, you shouldn’t begin a friendship with dishonesty. When you get home, you should write down ten reasons why you don’t think you are good enough as you are.”

  He looked down again. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

  “Be you. You are a great guy. You tell funny stories, and some woman out there will appreciate you for you, but you have to give them a chance. Today, you took my option of deciding if I wanted to be here with you or not because you posted a fake photo and false information.”

  “If I posted a photo of m-m-myself, would you have come?”

  “No. And that’s my prerogative. But just because I wouldn’t doesn’t mean other women wouldn’t. You can’t mislead people. It’s not fair. And I don’t think that is your personality.” She gave him some exercises to do for self-exploration and open communication. “The key is to be consistent.”

  “Y-you know a lot about relationships, Sophie. Why is a beautiful girl like you single?”

  Sophie thought for a minute, and then told him about Jabari. It was easy to vent to a stranger. Phil listened closely, picking at his chin.

  When she finished, Phil nodded knowingly. “He is intimidated b-by you.”

  “You think so?” It was the first time she wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “Yep. Or he’s got another woman somewhere. L-look at you. Your profile picture doesn’t do you j-justice. I’ve never even b-been in the presence of someone as beautiful as you. And you are nice. After all them l-l-lies I told you, you still s-sat here and talked to me. He’s a fool and h-he is scared. S-scared you are too good for him, and you know what? Y-y-you are. If he treats you like that, you are too g-good for him.”