Dating Dilemma

by Brownell, Rachael

  "Thanks."

  "Are you okay?"

  What's the definition of okay? There's an acronym for F.I.N.E. Fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. I'd be more likely to use that at the moment.

  "Yeah. What are you doing here?"

  "I tried to call you last night, and your phone went straight to voicemail. I need to talk to you. I left in such a hurry yesterday, and I shouldn’t have left you at all."

  "You had to work. So did I."

  "Yeah, but you were sick."

  "I was hungover. I still am. I'm just not vomiting anymore, thank God."

  He let's go of my face and runs his hands through his hair. He must have showered right before he came over. His hair is still damp, the path of his fingers determining which way it falls. It's jet black when it's wet, and his eyes are a pale blue when he's deep in thought.

  "We should get food. And talk. And eat. Are you hungry?" As if on cue, my stomach grumbles. "I'll take that as a yes. I know a great family restaurant, and they serve breakfast all day. Best cure for a hangover in town."

  As we wait for our food to arrive, Kyle attempts to make small talk. His meeting went fairly well yesterday, but he won't have an answer for a few days. He's counting on this deal to go through so he can buy his business partner out. When I ask why, he claims it was just time to part ways. There's more to that story, for sure. He's horrible at hiding his emotions when he doesn't want to talk about them. The sound of his voice barely hides the anger and hatred just beneath the surface of his answer.

  "So about the other night," he finally says, the mood shifting from talking about his business to our personal business.

  "Yeah. I'm sorry. I drank a lot and—”

  "Are you apologizing to me?" he asks, interrupting my pitiful attempt at just that.

  "Should I not be?"

  "Why would you apologize? I'm pretty sure we both enjoyed ourselves."

  My cheeks feel like someone lit them on fire. I'm aware no one around us knows we’re talking about sex, but he does. I do. And I don't normally talk about sex this casually. In fact, I try to avoid talking about sex altogether. Even with Abby, though that proves to be harder than normal these days.

  "Look, Lauren. I didn't plan for that to happen when I came over. I didn't plan for it at all. It's not why I was hanging out with you. It's not why I still want to hang out with you. In fact, if you'd rather not do that again, that's fine with me. We could, though. If you wanted to. This time, without drinking an entire fifth of whiskey first."

  I've never been so happy in my life to be interrupted. The waitress places a huge plate of eggs, hash browns, and bacon in front of me, and the same in front of Kyle. He's still staring at me, waiting for my answer, but I don't know what to say, so I take a bite of my bacon and chew it over for a few minutes. Literally. My bacon is chewy. I prefer is crispy.

  13

  Kyle

  She's avoiding answering the question. I'll leave the ball in her court. I don't want to pressure her into anything she's not interested in. Of course, I really hope she considers it.

  It amazes me that two weeks ago, I would still be in bed right now, fighting with Hope about how I need to get up and move on with my life. Now, I have a golden opportunity to do just that, and my fate rests in the hands of the beautiful woman sitting across from me, chewing on bacon.

  Each time we've gone out, I've found myself more and more attracted to her. Today, though, I'm blown away by her beauty. My bombarding her as she was getting out of the shower left her no time to put on makeup. She doesn’t need it. Her skin is glowing, especially her cheeks. They're a perfect rosy red.

  "I'm not sure how to answer your question. I feel like you just propositioned me, but at the same time, I know you didn't," she finally says, swallowing her bacon and taking a sip of juice.

  "I'm definitely not propositioning you," I reassure her. Did I really sound that way? I hope not.

  "Good, because," she starts but pauses as if she's trying to figure out the right thing to say.

  "Because what? Just say it."

  There's something she's keeping to herself. I understand this isn't the best topic of conversation to have over breakfast in a place where you never know who might be listening. She doesn't have to say anything at all, but she's captured my attention, and now I'm curious as to what she was going to say.

  Avoiding eye contact, Lauren glances around at the parents and children surrounding us. Looking down at her plate, she finally says what's on her mind.

  "I wasn't looking for this, for you. It wasn't part of my plan."

  "Isn't that how it's supposed to happen? When you least expect it?"

  "Sure, for most people. I'm a planner. The world’s most unorganized planner, but a planner none the less. I live in organized chaos. I could have spent an entire year in my apartment living out of boxes, knowing where almost everything is. I have a detailed plan for my life. Taking this job, moving across the country, none it was in my ten-year plan. It feels like since I've deviated from the path, nothing has gone the way it should have. You, this job, none of it. I'm starting to question my judgment. On a daily basis."

  "What are you saying?" I ask when she doesn't continue.

  "I think I need to step back and rethink my plan, Kyle. I need to figure out if you're part of it or not."

  Her voice is low, barely above a whisper, yet her words are loud and clear. She needs time. As much as I want to give that to her, I want to be selfish, too. She wasn’t part of my plan either. None of this was. I was content living the rest of my life alone. But then I met her and my vision for the future changed.

  "How long is that going to take?" I finally ask, knowing I’m not going to like her answer.

  "I don't know. We haven't known each other very long, but I'll admit I like you. I enjoy hanging out with you. We always have a good time, great conversations, aside from this one, and things are normally light and fun. There was no pressure until now. No pressure to be the person you want when we're together. I could just be me, and that was enough because I wasn't trying to impress you. Things are different now. You want more, and I'm not sure I can give you that. I'm not sure I can give you what you want, even if it's just sex."

  My mouth must have dropped open at some point in time. I'm shocked. How could I have read this so wrong? Sure, needing time, I get, but I didn’t think she would be walking away without a second thought. I thought she would want what I wanted. She admits she enjoyed hanging out. Why wouldn't she want to take a chance on this, on us? It's asinine.

  Motioning to the waitress for the check when I don't respond, Lauren settles our bill. Standing, I watch as she walks past me, placing her hand on my shoulder for a brief moment before she's gone. I contemplate going after her, trying to convince her that she's wrong, but it's a moot point. What I want won't change the fact she's not sure about anything. It won't change her mind about me or our situation.

  I'm right back to where I was two weeks ago, only I don't have the option of pulling the covers over my head.

  Hope's car is parked out front when I pull in my driveway. Had I seen it a few seconds earlier, I would have kept going, avoiding her interrogation. Not my luck. I've already opened the garage by the time I spot it, and I know she'll blow up my phone if I don't walk through the door in a minute.

  "I made lunch," she hollers as soon as I open the door.

  I was so focused on Lauren, I never touched my breakfast. After she left, the waitress asked if I wanted a box to take it home with me, but I declined. My appetite is gone. All I can think about is the look on her face before she walked away.

  There was conflict in her eyes. A deep sadness hidden in the shadows. Her smile was forced, her touch hesitant. Even after her words registered, my body craved to be closer to her. I wanted to reach out and touch her hand, to take it in mine and promise her things would be okay if she just gave us a chance. But my shock took over, and none of that happened. I let her walk away instead.<
br />
  Hope's in the kitchen, stacking turkey and lettuce between two slices of bread, when I finally make my way in to talk to her. Right now, I actually want to talk. It's a first for me, and I'm sure she's going to love every minute of it. Maybe she can help me make sense of what just happened.

  I'm not a bad person. When I love, I love with all I have. All I want is a woman who will appreciate that and love me the same in return. After this epic failure, I'm afraid I'll never find that.

  "About time. So what happened? You look like shit.”

  Hope's never been one to sugarcoat things, I know this, but right now, I need her to lay off a little. I feel ten times worse than I look.

  "I'm pretty sure my non-girlfriend just broke up with me," I say, taking a seat at the counter across from where she's making our sandwiches.

  "If she wasn't your girlfriend, how can she break up with you?" she asks, passing me a plate.

  "That's what has me so confused."

  "But you care?"

  "Of course, I care. Why wouldn't I?"

  "Because for the last six months, you haven't cared about yourself, let alone anyone else."

  She has a valid point. Of course.

  "Look, I like her. A lot. I wasn't expecting things to turn out this way. I wasn't expecting them to go past one dinner date. Of course, I went and screwed that up."

  "Why do you say that? How did you screw it up? Maybe she's to blame."

  Taking a bite of her sandwich, Hope challenges me. She wants me to blame Lauren. It would be easier, but it would also be a lie. I’m done lying to myself. I like this girl, and if I’m going to ask for Hope’s help, she needs to know how badly I messed up.

  "Not likely. Have a seat. You're going to love this story."

  Hope's jaw drops as soon as I tell her about the other night, and it doesn’t close until I'm done. I tell her everything. More than she needs to know and more than she probably wants to hear. That's not true. She's always loved details. As soon as I finish telling her about the conversation Lauren and I just had and her leaving me, she straightens her back and begins to form her rebuttal.

  I'm not going down without a fight. Hope will make sure of it. Just as I expected.

  Dear Maggie,

  * * *

  My "boyfriend" won't put a title on our relationship. We've been seeing each other for close to six months, and he freaked out when I introduced myself as his girlfriend at a party the other night. Why would he be opposed to telling people I'm his girlfriend? Is he ashamed of me?

  * * *

  ~Samantha

  Samantha,

  * * *

  Ashamed? Probably not. Are you certain you're the only one sharing his bed? If he won't put a title on your relationship, he's trying not to tie himself down. Either he's afraid of commitment or he's doing everything he can to avoid it, probably for a reason. He's keeping his options open. Ask him or his friends if there's someone else. Someone will tell you the truth, and if not, watch for the signs. Is he available when you call? Does he freak out when you show up unannounced?

  * * *

  ~Maggie

  14

  Lauren

  It's been six days since I've spoken to or heard from Kyle. Maybe he's giving me the time and space I asked for. Maybe he's done with me after hearing my non-committal speech. Either way, he hasn't reached out, and even though I've picked up my phone to call him at least a dozen times, I haven't either.

  Have you ever wished you could go back and do things over again?

  No, me neither. It's not like I just threw away the best thing that's ever happened to me.

  Can I honestly say that? I didn't even give myself a chance to find out.

  Abby sure does have a strong opinion on my "mistake," though. So much so, she's coming to check on me today. She thinks I need some R&R this weekend so I can pull my head out of my ass. Her words, not mine. She seems to think she's the best person to help me accomplish this. So, this weekend, we're headed to a lake not far from here to relax before the cold weather bears down on me for the winter.

  I have to pick her up at the airport in an hour. Before I do that, I have to finish my column for Sunday, and I'm not even sure where to begin. I hate when my life mimics the questions, and that seems to be happening a lot. Either that or I'm reading way too far into these questions. I mean, they're all about love and relationships.

  I'm dealing with a situation involving both of those topics.

  I have ten minutes to finish this article, and it's not going to happen. I do the only thing I can to save the column and ask for an extension.

  "Mr. Phelps," I say, knocking on the doorframe as I cross the threshold. He's been in a good mood all week, and I'm hoping that hasn't changed.

  He talked to Maggie on Monday afternoon. She assured him that she would be back when her six weeks were up. There was a genuine smile on my face for the first time in days when he told me that. I could go back to being the journalist I came here to be.

  "Yes, Ms. Norton. Come in." He doesn't sound as chipper as I was hoping he would.

  "What are the chances I can work on this column for another day or so?"

  "Why would you need to do that?"

  "I'm having a hard time channeling my inner Maggie," I whisper, remembering I left his door wide open.

  "Fine, fine. I need it no later than 10:00 a.m. on Sunday."

  "You'll have it," I promise him as I leave his office.

  Gathering my things, I head straight for the airport to pick up Abby. Hopefully, her idea of a little R&R includes helping me figure out what to say to this reader. With my life in shambles at the moment, giving advice makes me feel like more of a fraud than pretending to be Maggie.

  Abby's always given me great advice, more of which I'm sure I'll get this weekend.

  Abby's talked non-stop since I picked her up. We're twenty minutes from the cabin I rented, and I'm not seeing her giving me a break anytime soon. It started out simple. "How's John and Johnny? That was thirty minutes of cute baby stories and ten minutes of what an ass her husband was right before she left.

  After that, she tried to talk to me about Kyle, but I shut her down. Now, she's going on and on about some whitening toothpaste that she bought, loves, and brought for me to try.

  "Your teeth can never be too white, ya know. Seriously, look at mine. You know I drink coffee all day long. You can't even tell."

  Smiling at me as big as she can, I take my eyes off the road for half a second to appease her. Her teeth are really white, I have to admit.

  "You're going to love it. It's not cheap, but it's worth it. And you have a big girl job now, so you can afford it."

  "How expensive can toothpaste be?"

  "It's like twenty bucks a tube, but you only need a tiny dab. I swear. That's all I use and the tube lasts me forever. I don't let John use it."

  "Why? He smoked for a while. I bet his teeth are stained, too."

  "Yeah, but he teased me about buying from an infomercial, so I told him he couldn't use it until he apologized, and he's being stubborn."

  Leave it to Abby to have a standing argument with her husband over something stupid like toothpaste. Shaking my head, I almost miss my turn. My phone alerts me to the turn ahead and I skid a little as I pump my brakes. It started to drizzle as soon as we left the airport, and it hasn't stopped.

  "This shit better clear up. I brought my swimsuit and plan on jumping in that lake as soon as it stops raining."

  "I hope you realize swimming in a lake is different than swimming in the ocean."

  "Yes, I realize. Less sharks."

  Oh lord! I don't even know how to respond to that, so I don't bother. We pull up to the tiny cabin a few minutes later, and I have to practically drag Abby out into the light rain to help me look for the hidden key the owner told me about.

  Once we find it, Abby runs to the front porch and lets herself in the house, leaving me to grab our bags. She's always been prissier that me, but this is a
bit over the top, even for her.

  The cabin is adorable. Inside, it's decorated with modern furniture, and you can tell it's been remodeled recently. Outside, it looks like any old cabin you might find hidden in the woods. The best of both worlds. Charm and character.

  The rain passes while we get settled. Before I know it, Abby is sporting her tiny bikini, ready to jump in the water. She's put on a few pounds since having Johnny, but they look good on her. She filled out in all the right places. Boobs and butt. Before getting pregnant, she barely had either.

  Grabbing two towels, she's out the front door and hollering for me to get changed. Doing as I'm told, I put my bikini on and head down to the water.

  There are two Adirondack chairs and a small table down near the water. Abby's sitting in one, stretched out like she's getting sun. The rain may have stopped, but the sun has yet to come back out. The clouds are stretched across the sky as far as the eye can see. I'm wondering if she knows she looks silly.

  "Want some company?" I ask as I plop down into the chair next to her.

  "Only if you're ready to talk."

  Sunglasses cover her eyes, but I'm certain they're closed anyway.

  "Sure. Let's talk. What do you want to know?"

  "Why you told him to fuck off."

  Always to the point.

  "I didn't. I told you that. I told him I needed time."

  "Has he called?"

  "No. It's only been a few days, though."

  "It's been almost a week. I guarantee he read the situation like I did. You told him to get lost, Lauren, and you know it. The question is why? You liked him."

  "It's complicated."

  "So un-complicate things. The only person who sees it as complicated is you. Why?"

  Good question. It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself all week and still have no answer for. All I’ve come up with are excuses.