A Year to Remember

by Shelly Bell

  “I want to see you again. Are you busy next weekend?”

  I didn’t want to go out on dates with anyone but Caleb. He had me wrapped around his finger already. I had made a commitment to my dates for this weekend. I owed it to myself to play the field until I was sure I had found “the one.”

  “I have plans Friday and Saturday night, but I’d love to see you on Sunday if you any time available.”

  He looked worried when I mentioned being busy over the weekend. I didn’t explain my plans, and Caleb rightly inferred I had scheduled dates. After all, he did hear my toast at my brother’s wedding. Unlike the other men I had dates with, Caleb knew I was trying to get married before a deadline.

  “Sunday it is. I’ll call you this week and we can talk about what we’d like to do together.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I said, while he walked me to my door.

  He kissed me again, but less passionately this time. I assumed he worried if the kiss became too intense, we’d end up in bed. Still, the kiss left both his taste on my lips and my body begging for more, so it’d served its purpose.

  I started dialing Missy as soon as I walked into my condo. It’s like nothing really happened until I tell my best friend about it and she has given me her opinion. That’s how it has always been with us.

  Only now it occurred to me while I always call her about my dates, she never does. She may mention she had a date or imply she’s going on one, but she never asks me for advice or for my opinion. Maybe she believes I wouldn’t understand because I’m not a lesbian, but honestly, other than the connecting body parts, is there really such a difference? Love is love and sex is sex no matter if it’s between a man and a woman or it’s between the same gender. Why can’t she talk to me about it?

  I didn’t want to argue with her. In all our years of friendship, we never seriously fought about anything. Sure, we have had little disagreements about mundane things such as where we want to go and eat, but otherwise, we don’t quarrel. That’s why we’re such great friends.

  I hung up the phone and instead of calling Missy to brag about my date with Caleb and my three dates scheduled for next weekend, I chose to take a bath and read a romance novel. If I called Missy tonight, I’d want to know why she’s been acting more distant from me lately and why she never shares about her love life with me and why she and Lori are keeping a secret from me.

  I’m her best friend and best friends should not keep secrets from each other. Still, I couldn’t bear the thought of finding out something that might change our friendship forever. I decided to wait until she called me and let the memories of today lull me to sleep.

  CHAPTER 13

  APRIL 13, 2012

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  WEIGHT: 178

  STATUS: SINGLE

  Missy and I barely got the chance to talk before my Friday night date. In the five minutes we had spoken, I simply let her know I’d had a great time with Caleb and that I had dates this weekend with both of my matches from speed dating. She pretended to sound happy for me, but I knew her too well to believe her.

  Caleb had called me every night since last Sunday. We didn’t talk for long, but he’d call just to ask how my day was going and to let me know he was thinking about me. Very romantic.

  Max, on the other hand, hadn’t called me since we made our plans. I wasn’t even sure if he’d show. But, right on time, Max pulled up in a black corvette, his hair perfectly coiffed and his teeth so white he belonged in a toothpaste commercial.

  To tell you the truth, I’m prejudiced against the perfectly beautiful ones. You know the type. I’d wager Max’s high school class elected him Homecoming King, Most Popular and Most Likely to Succeed, along with his perfect girlfriend. Then after high school, he probably broke up with her in order to play the field. In medical school, I imagined he chose another perfect woman as his girlfriend, one also in medical school, who would not expect anything from him other than sex and accompaniment to society functions. When they’d broken up due to their careers, he’d thrown himself into his job until one day he looked around and discovered it was no longer posh to have the perfect beautiful model on his arm. Now, he’s probably looking for a wife, someone to bear him children and make a home for him. Someone to impress his boss with her intelligence, wit, and social graces.

  He probably believed a chubby girl would be lucky to get a guy like him, that she’d do anything to be his wife, including allowing the occasional mistress. If he assumed I would allow him to sleep around, while I stay home with our two kids and plan our dinner with the Chief of Surgery, he’d find himself thrown out on his ass.

  When I opened the door to step outside, I felt foolish for letting my imagination get the best of me. I owed him the benefit of the doubt and tried not to assume the worst before getting to know him. I wouldn’t expect him to do any less for me.

  “It’s a little chilly tonight. You should probably bring a scarf. You don’t want to catch a cold,” he greeted.

  Now, I really regretted making assumptions. It’s my own insecurity rearing its ugly head. Not my best quality and one I didn’t want Max to ever see.

  I listened to Max’s suggestion and grabbed my scarf before heading out.

  “Where are we going to dinner?”

  “I made reservations at the new Ethiopian restaurant that just opened. It got great reviews in the paper and I’ve heard good things about it from my friends.”

  I’ve never tried Ethiopian, but I didn’t want to sound whiny if I suggested we go somewhere else. Instead, I turned on the radio to listen to some music. He immediately turned it off.

  “Sorry, I don’t like to listen to music while I drive. I find it too distracting,” he informed me.

  “No problem.”

  Honestly, it was a problem. Because I didn’t just listen to music while I drove, I cranked it up so loud my neighbors could hear me when I pulled in and out of my driveway. My parents do the same thing and it became a habit early on.

  It’s not like I have to have music on all the time. I didn’t need to listen to loud music with Caleb because I enjoyed talking with him. My mind started wandering to steamy thoughts of Caleb and I had to concentrate to regain my focus on Max.

  In Max’s defense, he picked an excellent restaurant for our date. While not fancy, the restaurant had an upscale ambiance without feeling too intimidating. We sat on cushions on the floor across from each other with a small table in the middle. Not the most comfortable way to dine, but certainly unique.

  Max asked the waitress for recommendations since neither one of us had eaten at an Ethiopian restaurant before tonight. She suggested we order a combination meat and vegetable platter which would allow us to sample eight dishes on the menu. I’m not the biggest meat eater, but I agreed to the platter.

  While we waited for our food, we drank some wine and I attempted to relax, admiring the Ethiopian artwork that decorated the room.

  “So Max, how do you enjoy being a pediatrician?” I asked, not caring I had broken my rule about talking about work.

  “I love being a doctor,” he replied.

  “You must love children since you’re a pediatrician,” I added.

  “Actually, I can’t stand the little germ-infested beasts.”

  I sat there staring at him, trying to determine if he was pulling my leg. He certainly looked dead serious.

  “Why do you work with kids if you don’t like them?”

  “We all have to do a pediatric rotation in medical school. I impressed the pediatric physicians with my skills, and they convinced me I would make a successful pediatrician. I can fake it well enough with the kids, and it’s really the parents I interact with anyway. Of course, that’s no picnic either.”

  I lost my appetite, but the waitress set the food in front of us, oblivious to my growing distain for the man sitting in front of me. She explained the dishes to us and the manner of how to eat it.

  “There are two chicken dishes and one
beef dish as well as lentils, peas, cabbage, and mixed veggies. Here we do not use utensils to eat our food. We use the bread, injera, to scoop the food, and lovers feed each other.”

  “It’s also a good way to spread germs, right, Dr. Hunter?” I said, hoping he’d get the hint I wanted to feed myself. He nodded and began to eat.

  Maybe I’d find feeding someone sensual, like the scene in 9 ½ Weeks, but it would not be with Max. Luckily, he didn’t ask.

  We engaged in small talk while we sampled the dishes. I had to ask for more water, because some of the dishes caused a fire to form in my mouth and down in my belly. I’d be sorry tomorrow.

  At one point in the meal, Max excused himself to go the restroom, and I got a moment of much needed silence. Just like at speed dating, the guy talked about himself constantly, rarely asking me about myself. I knew this was not going to work out, and I just wanted to go home and get some rest for tomorrow night’s date with Ryan.

  When he got back from the bathroom, I noticed Max sniffing and rubbing his nose with his hand several times. He also talked more animatedly than earlier, although he still only talked about himself.

  “Do you feel okay? You seem like you might be coming down with a cold.” I hoped he’d say “yes” and end the date right then and there.

  “I’m fine.” He paused for a moment, then leaned in to ask me a question. “Do you do cocaine?”

  “No. Do you?” Judging by his question and his behavior I’d guess and say yes.

  He had the tenacity to sit back and try to worm his way out of his admission. “I, uh, only do it for recreational purposes. I’m not an addict or anything.”

  “Oh no, you’re not an addict. You’re high on a date right now! You take care of children for goodness sake!”

  I couldn’t help it. Sara the woman had left the building and in her place sat Sara the psychologist. I wanted to run out of the restaurant, but I needed to confront him on this or I’d never forgive myself. I sat straight on my pillow and cranked the metaphorical switch in my brain to transform into counseling mode.

  “Why did you feel the need to do coke in the middle of our date?” I used my professional tone, the one where I don’t allow any of my personal beliefs and judgments to interfere with the relationship between me and my client.

  He had the decency to look guilty. “I don’t know. I could tell the date wasn’t going well, and I knew it would make me feel better.”

  “Did it make you feel better?”

  I could see his mind working. It isn’t easy to confront someone while they are using, but since I’d never talk to this man again, this was my only chance.

  “No, it didn’t,” he admitted.

  “There is no such thing as doing cocaine recreationally, Max. It’s illegal, it’s dangerous, and it’s stupid. You could lose everything you’ve worked so hard for. You don’t want that, do you?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m going to give you a referral for a therapist who deals with addiction. I’m also recommending you find a Narcotics Anonymous meeting.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a Twelve Step program like AA, only for drug addicts.”

  “I’m not an addict. I don’t use it often, and I can quit whenever I want to,” Max angrily informed me.

  “I’m not saying you are an addict. Go to a few meetings and see what it’s all about. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I motioned for the waitress to bring the bill before continuing. “If you had a patient who smoked cigarettes and wanted to quit, what advice would you give him?”

  “I would tell him there are various ways to make it easier for him to quit, like the patch or the gum.”

  It astounded me how easy he could change gears and think like a doctor. I hoped he didn’t practice medicine while high.

  “Well, think of a therapist and NA as methods to help you.”

  I rummaged through my purse and got the card of the therapist for Max.

  “Here’s his card. You can find NA online, and there are tons of meetings around. If you’re not comfortable going to one around here, you can find one on the other side of town. Remember, it’s anonymous, meaning no one can tell anyone including your patients, if they see you there.”

  He took the card without complaint. I couldn’t determine if he’d take that first step but at least it was out of my hands.

  We sat in silence while he paid the bill. When it came time to go, I realized I couldn’t let him drive me home while intoxicated, and I couldn’t drive a manual transmission. I’d have to find a ride. He offered to pay for a taxi, but I didn’t want to take his money. After a brief hug and a “good luck” from me, he left me alone in the restaurant.

  I tried Missy first, but I got her voicemail. I left her a message. My parents didn’t have their phones since they were at the movies and my brother was out of town visiting his in-laws. I’d have to spend the money for a cab.

  It took an hour before it arrived and I had to stop at an ATM machine to get the cash I needed to pay the driver. Thirty dollars and an hour and a half later, I fell into bed completely dressed, asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  I awoke the next morning to the song “S&M” by Rhianna, a ring tone I had specifically designated for Missy. I discovered I had drooled all over my pillow and remembered having a sex dream about Caleb. Good thing he hadn’t actually been with me to witness the embarrassing drool.

  “Hey, Miss.”

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t get your message until this morning! What happened with your date?”

  “We had an enlightening heart to heart over his drug use and after I gave him a referral for psychological treatment, he drove himself home, hopefully without killing himself or anybody else on the road. I took a cab,” I announced.

  “Did he at least give you money for it?”

  “The cab or the therapeutic session?”

  “Both.”

  “He paid for dinner. Does that count?”

  “Why didn’t you take the cab money?”

  “It didn’t seem right.”

  “Bullshit. You didn’t want to make him feel bad. You probably said you already had a ride lined up, didn’t you?”

  God damn, I couldn’t keep anything from her.

  “Yes. All right? I lied and said you were coming to get me.”

  “Otherwise, how’d the date go? Are you going to see him again?” she teased.

  “You’d better be messing with me. Of course, I’m not going to go out with him. Aside from his recreational cocaine use, he’s still a jerk. The guy doesn’t even like children. He’s a pediatrician for Christ’s sake! Plus, he’s terribly conceited.”

  “Too bad. I’m sure your mom will be disappointed you’re not going to marry a Jewish doctor.”

  “She’ll have to get over it.”

  “Where are you and Bachelor Number Two going tonight?”

  “We’re going to Antonio’s for dinner, and then to see Bon Jovi in concert.”

  Unlike Max, Ryan had called this week to confirm our date. He wasn’t a great conversationalist on the phone, but I couldn’t wait to see him in person. All I could remember from meeting him were his blue eyes.

  Missy and I talked for almost an hour and after our exchange, I felt much better about the state of our friendship. Whatever had been bothering Missy, she was obviously over it now. I’m grateful I didn’t rock the boat and call her out on it. Now things could go back to the way they’d always been.

  I spent the rest of the day trying to decide on what to wear to the concert. Should I dress like a head banger in a black T-shirt and mini skirt with my leather boots and leather jacket, or should I dress to flatter in black jeans and a blouse? I opted to take the middle ground and wore jeans with a nice T-shirt and vest with high heels and leather jacket. Now, I could feel both sophisticated and wild.

  Before I could feel completely comfortable with my decision, I used my cell phone and sent Missy a picture of me dr
essed for the date. What did single people do before cell phones?

  She texted back a smiley face and the words ‘don’t have too much fun!’

  Missy also had a date tonight with someone new. All she told me about Hillary was she smoked clove cigarettes and smelled really sweet. Personally, I think smoking is a disgusting habit, even if the smoke smells sweet. Missy seems to consider it a turn-on.

  After the date with Max, I had low expectations for my date with Ryan. When I saw him pull up in my driveway, then come to my door with roses, my hope for an enjoyable evening suddenly increased.

  He didn’t drive American, but at least he didn’t drive a sports car. Ryan pulled into my driveway in a Toyota Camry, and I felt immediate relief. It’s not that I judge men by the vehicles they drive, like I do with choice of coffee, but clearly I ought to start. Caleb drove a reliable SUV like me. He obviously shared some of my values. Max drove a sports car to go with his fast personality. Ryan didn’t drive American, but at least he chose sensibly.

  Maybe I should start judging my dates by their cars. From now on, I vow to make that my first question whenever I meet a new potential mate.

  I opened the door to greet Ryan, and I swear to God I wanted to grab him and have my way with him then and there. I had never been on a date with such a patently sexy man in my entire life. He put Brad Pitt and Robert Pattinson to shame with his blue eyes and dirty blond hair.

  What the hell did he see in me?

  “These are for you.” He handed me flowers and kissed me on the cheek.

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful. Would you like to come in while I put these in a vase?”

  “Sure,” he replied as he stepped into my small foyer and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Wow, nice place.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay. I thought about buying a small house, but it’s a lot easier to take care of a condo, since I don’t have to worry about the exterior.”