Dating by Numbers

by Jennifer Lohmann

  “You expect me to believe you didn’t have a plan?”

  “You’re nothing I could have planned for. I didn’t expect you. I didn’t want you.”

  The instant those words left her mouth, Jason stepped back like she’d hit him. “You didn’t want me.” His face had fallen, and he no longer looked angry. He looked crushed.

  God, she’d done that to him. Tears welled in her eyes, and she felt smaller than an ant, and worth less, too.

  “No. I mean, yes. God,” she said, her head falling back so she could look at the ceiling and find something stable when it felt like the floor was sliding out from under her.

  She brought her face down so that she was looking at him when she said what she needed to say, what she hoped he needed to hear. “I didn’t want to want you. I had this idea of what I wanted. Of what would matter to me in a relationship, and it was all stupid shit. Like what television shows you watched and the last book you read. I wasn’t thinking of things like kindness and reliability and making me laugh and finding someone who softened all my rough edges.”

  Tears slid down her face, pooling around the edges of her mouth and around her nostrils. She wiped at her face with the heel of her hand. “I was looking for all the wrong things. You, you, are the right things. You’re everything I should have been looking for in a man and everything I was too blinded by my algorithm and my desire to hack online dating to see. I was so determined to win, that I almost lost.”

  “Almost?” God, he was back to sounding as hard as steel, cutting and cold.

  “You dismissed me as a partner, too. You were looking for spark, and we didn’t have it.” She sniffed, scrubbed at her face and sniffed again. “That’s not too different.”

  “In this case, I think it is. I never laid out your positives and negatives on a piece of paper and scored them. I just knew that you were Marsie and that I liked hanging out with you. And then I realized I wanted more.”

  He sighed. “I’m not saying that I wasn’t stupid, too. I was. My idea of spark didn’t account for the joys of getting to know someone and falling in love slowly.”

  Love? She opened her mouth to ask, but he raised his hand to stall her. “But I never scored you and found you wanting. That’s the difference.”

  “I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.”

  “I’m sure you are. But I’d bet if we went back in time, you would do it again. I’m not sure you know how to make decisions without laying out the numbers. How will I know that you’re not still laying out my faults and taking off points?”

  “How will I know that you won’t regret that we didn’t have immediate spark?”

  He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked as sad as she felt. “That’s the best you can do?”

  “I can’t change how I am and how I think. But I can change my score sheet. I did change my score sheet. You just can’t see it, because I didn’t write it down. I just acted on the results.”

  “Well, then I guess we’ll never have to worry about it, will we. You’ll never have to wonder if I missed the spark, and I’ll never have to wonder if you’re tallying my faults.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. Marsie, right now, I’m so angry that I can’t think straight and so hurt I can barely stand. I just want to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here, in your house, with those papers.”

  “Can we talk later?” she pleaded. “I was willing to talk later.”

  “Again, not the same circumstance.”

  She sniffed again, and he reached over for the box of tissues to hand her. She took a handful. She needed them.

  “No promises. I need to be somewhere else. Then I’ll see if I want to talk with you.”

  She nodded and sniffed. Sniffed and nodded.

  “The cookbook you want is on your desk. It was under those papers. Enjoy your chicken,” he said. Then he walked out.

  Unable to see through the waterfall of tears. Marsie stumbled through her kitchen to the nearest chair, tissues in hand. Then she collapsed in a fit of tears, crying for herself, crying for Jason’s hurt and crying for math, which had failed her for the first time in her life.

  * * *

  JASON STOPPED AT Marsie’s front door, his hand on the knob, when he heard her burst into tears. Those weren’t the tears that had been running down her face when they’d been talking. Now she was crying the gulping, choking cries of someone who was truly grieving.

  He looked back over his shoulder and considered walking back, gathering her into his arms and telling her all was forgiven and forgotten.

  But it wasn’t. And forgiving wasn’t enough. Would she be able to forget that he hadn’t measured up?

  Would he be able to forget the image of her, sitting at the messy desk, looking at his online dating profile and scoring him? Like he was any other dude.

  He sighed and took a step off her stoop. It was the remembering that would kill them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ON MONDAY, JASON got to work late for the first time in his life. He had to park near the back of the lot and walk past all the cars. The beautiful weather of the weekend should have turned gray to match his black mood. But it didn’t. No personal storm clouds, either, not even when he walked past Marsie’s car.

  Once in the door, he headed to his office and to reality. No coffee for him this morning. Too many memories associated with the cafeteria for right now.

  Maybe he’d become a tea drinker.

  Or give up hot beverages entirely and turn into one of those people who carried around thirty-six-ounce bottles of Coke everywhere he went.

  His desk was as messy as he usually left it, except for a small space cleared of papers with a small, insulated bag sitting on the wood and a cup next to it.

  The cup held barely warm coffee. He was much later to work than anyone could have expected. And he didn’t have to lift the lid to know that the coffee had been made to his preferences of milk and sugar.

  Marsie wouldn’t miss a detail like that.

  Details were her specialty and her downfall.

  He opened the bag and set aside the note, not quite ready for it. He popped open the first small container. Roasted Brussels sprouts. The second small container had carrots. He picked one up and tasted it. Carrots with honey and butter.

  He knew what the large container at the bottom would hold without having to open in. Of course, he couldn’t stop himself from opening it anyway. Chicken, surrounded by something bread-looking that Marsie had described as tasting like a cracker, but a cracker cooked with chicken.

  Before packing everything back up, he took a deep sniff. It smelled good. Of course it would smell good. Of course Marsie would be a good cook. She was precise and careful. The chicken would probably taste exactly like the author of the cookbook intended it to. Perfectly prescribed. Just as the doctor ordered.

  Once all the food was packed up, he picked up the note.

  Jason,

  The chicken is better when shared.

  I’m sorry.

  Marsie

  No deviation from the path that she’d laid out for herself. She’d even fucking cooked the chicken she’d planned to cook with him. Probably because she’d planned to cook it, and once Marsie made a plan, she didn’t stray from it.

  He tossed the note aside with a sigh. The problem wasn’t that he didn’t understand why Marsie had scored him. The problem was that he didn’t want her to look back at her life and this fork in the road and think, Man, I should have stayed with the original plan.

  Though, to be honest, that wasn’t much like Marsie, either. He wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have been happier if she’d followed some path other than the one her parents set out for her, but he had never once heard her wish she had done something different. She hadn’t d
one something different, and so she was living the life that she’d made for herself and doing it the best way possible.

  No looking back and no regret.

  Was that kind of acceptance enough for him? It seemed the very opposite of spark.

  But it also seemed the very definition of loyalty and devotion. Maybe it wasn’t the romance of flowers and poetry, but it was the romance that led to being seventy-five and holding hands while walking through the park.

  That was what his parents had. It was what he’d always wanted.

  I could have that with Marsie. His heart was heavy as he lifted his lunch to the edge of his desk.

  Was he being a fool?

  Not sure what else to do, he thought about texting Allison for advice. They were on their way to becoming friends, and she’d had good dating advice before, as she’d realized that she shouldn’t be dating anymore. Jill would probably answer his call, too, and she had met Marsie, so she might have even better advice.

  Instead, he reached for his phone and called his mom. While the phone rang, he took a drink from his cold coffee. It didn’t matter that it was cold; coffee was always better when Marsie was a part of it.

  “Hello, dear,” his mom said by way of greeting. “You don’t usually call on weekdays. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just working through some things in my head that you might be able to help me with.”

  “Oh, I love it when you call for advice. I always learn so much about what’s going on with you when you’re screwing up.”

  “Hey,” he said, insulted. “What makes you think I’m screwing up?”

  “That’s the only reason you ever ask for advice. When your life is going along swimmingly and you’re getting everything you want, you call to check in on how I’m doing, and I have to pry to figure out how you’re doing.”

  “Well, how are you doing?” He sat back in his office chair and put his feet up on his desk. This was going to be a long conversation.

  “Better now that you called. I’m guessing that you want relationship advice.”

  “Mom, you’ve been married to Dad forever. Why would I ask you for relationship advice?”

  “Because I’ve been married to your dad forever. And because you asked him about how we decided to get married. Do you think we don’t talk?”

  No, but sometimes he wished they didn’t.

  “Your dad said you were waiting for love at first sight. Because you thought we were love at first sight.”

  “Well, that’s how you always explained it to me.” Seriously, his parents were great, but they both acted like he was in the wrong for believing their stories of deciding to get married.

  “I knew I could love your dad without trying to fix him. My mom used to follow my dad around the house, giving him little hints about making his life better. I think he ignored her, but it always drove me crazy and I swore I wouldn’t do that to my own husband. Your dad was the first person I met who I didn’t feel needed fixing.”

  If he closed his eyes, he could imagine his grandmother following his grandfather around the house telling him things like, “If you put your cream in your cup before you put in your coffee, you wouldn’t need to stir it.” Even as a kid, that had annoyed him. He couldn’t imagine living with it himself. And he’d never once seen his grandfather put cream in his cup first.

  “That’s what Dad meant when he said he was better than all the other bozos you’d dated.”

  His mom sighed. “They weren’t bozos. They just weren’t for me. And I probably wasn’t for them, either.”

  “So it wasn’t love at first sight. Like Dad said, you wanted out of the house and he was the best available option.” He reached out for his coffee cup again, then remembered it was cold and sat back in his chair. He should have called his mom after getting a fresh cup of coffee.

  She laughed. His mom actually laughed. “That doesn’t make it sound very romantic, does it?”

  “No.” Maybe that was his problem. Maybe he was looking for Disney, and that didn’t exist outside of movie theaters.

  “Marriage is work,” she said, almost like she’d stolen the line from his dad. “But the work is the romantic part. Any old...bozo,” she said. He chuckled and she stopped talking for a moment, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

  “Dad said you wouldn’t call the men you’d dated bozos.”

  “Oh,” she said, then laughed. “They weren’t bozos. Or I’m sure their wives don’t think so.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Mom.”

  “That’s what I mean,” she said, following some line in the conversation that he was missing. “It’s easy to be romantic. Anyone can think of roses, and they even sell them at grocery stores. And then you have commercials that tell men to buy their wives diamonds. But it’s work to be there for every conversation. To take over the burden when your loved one can’t and to let them take it over when you can’t. And I think that’s where the romance is.”

  Devotion. Loyalty. Stick-to-it-ness. He hadn’t had a personal crisis—other than this one—that he’d needed Marsie to be around for, but he didn’t doubt that she’d be there in the future. Marsie didn’t shy away from things because they were hard or uncomfortable. Marsie showed up to life, though she did it in her own way. And her own way was one of the things he liked so much about her.

  “Marry someone you want to do that work with. And who you think wants to do that work with you.”

  “Mom,” he said, swinging his feet to the floor and leaning on his desk. “What do you do when Dad does something that hurts you?”

  “Sometimes I pretend it didn’t happen. Deafness has saved many a marriage.”

  “And the other times?” It was too late for Jason to pretend he hadn’t seen the algorithm, and he wasn’t sure he’d want to pretend. It seemed too big to ignore.

  “We talk about it. I don’t always get to wait until I’m ready to talk about it, but I try to wait until the hurt has died down enough that I can understand his point of view.”

  Could he listen to Marsie’s point of view?

  Yes.

  Could he do it now?

  No.

  “Did someone hurt you?” his mom asked. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone. I mean, other than that you’re always dating.”

  “Yes, but I’m not ready to talk about it with her.”

  “Is it the math girl?”

  “What?” How did she know? She’d had eyes in the back of her head when he was a kid, but she lived too far away for such magical sight now.

  “You mentioned her to your dad. You never mention specific women to your dad. She must be important. Do you want to talk about her?”

  “No, not right now.”

  “I’m here when you want to.”

  “I know.” Like Marsie, his parents were steady and reliable. And, suddenly, that sounded like the most romantic thing on the planet.

  “Love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, dear. Call anytime.”

  After his mom signed off, Jason looked at the screen on his phone. But he didn’t text Marsie. Or swivel in his chair to head up to her office. He couldn’t, because he couldn’t think of her without thinking of those algorithms.

  “You’re wasting your life,” his favorite professor had said when he’d dropped out of school. “Wasting your life and your intellect.” Like the only thing that made life worth the air he breathed was a fancy diploma hanging on his wall.

  It’s what Marsie considered important. That had been abundantly clear in all her attempts to add up her perfect partner.

  Jason had run into that professor at the grocery store a couple years ago. Despite the addition of over a decade to their faces, they’d recognized each other. Also despite years and Jason’s good job, the man had
still told him what a shame it was that he’d wasted his talent.

  Jason’s girlfriend at the time had agreed with the professor, in what was the beginning of their lack of “spark” and the end of that relationship. The thought of hearing something similar come out of Marsie’s mouth cramped up his stomach.

  His mom was right about needing to be in a place where he could listen to Marsie’s point of view. But he also needed to be in a place where he trusted what she said and didn’t pick apart her truths for the bits and pieces that could hurt him.

  And he wasn’t there yet.

  * * *

  MARSIE SPENT MONDAY concentrating on her grant. The entire team pulled together to organize the forms the granting organization required, and they set up a series of meetings to plan what would happen after they officially got the grant. The team was nothing if not hopeful.

  She didn’t look at the door for Jason.

  Or, she didn’t look much.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MARSIE DEALT WITH her grief the way she had always dealt with everything bad in her life. She worked. Beck texted her, suggesting they get together. Marsie felt guilty for ignoring her best friend, especially when her friend was still in pain herself. But Marsie needed to hide in a cave and lick her wounds for a while.

  For a week she came into work at seven in the morning and worked until nine at night. She brought a cheese sandwich and pretzel sticks for lunch, and ate a frozen dinner when she got home.

  She got a lot done. By the time the week was over, she’d planned out the entire five years of the grants, created the spreadsheets she thought she would need for tracking the money and the work, set up reporting mechanisms for all the statistics they would collect, drafted templates for the reports they were to send back to the reporting agency and added reminders and tasks to her calendar. Hopeful reminders.

  Five years’ worth of them. At least she was smart enough to stop short of setting up reminders for the rest of the team. And she was smart enough to know that, no matter how well planned she felt, avoiding meetings and work lunches meant she’d probably have to adjust everything she’d spent her week doing.