by Alicia Rades
“I’m not happy with mine, either,” I told her, sharing her discontented tone.
“Well, maybe we should room together,” she said with an edge of sarcasm before bending to her backpack to retrieve her book.
I sat there for a moment pondering the idea. This girl seemed a much better choice for me.
“I’m sure you’d be easier to get along with,” I said in a light-hearted tone.
Her head popped back up from below the desk, and she stared into the distance with her mouth open slightly as if she had a wonderful idea, but she quickly regained herself.
“Are you busy after this class? Maybe we could grab a bite to eat,” she offered, and my stomach growled at the thought, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten all day.
“Sounds great,” I agreed.
Once Juliet got to know me a bit better, she invited me to switch rooms and take on the honor of becoming her permanent roommate. Judging by the way Juliet manipulates people, I’m not sure I had a choice in the matter, but I’m glad I said yes anyway.
“Speaking of my dancing dress,” I say, pulling myself from my memory, “we really need another night out.”
“Of course,” she agrees. “You’re still coming to the art show in two weeks when they display my painting, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I promise. “Maybe we can go out dancing that night to celebrate.”
“Sure,” she agrees. “I’ll be really busy the next few weeks, so we probably won’t have time together until then.”
I’m relieved that we’re finished talking about the blind date, and I begin cleaning our apartment for no better reason than that I don’t have anything better to do. Luckily Juliet stops harping on me, and the subject doesn’t come up again for the rest of the day.
God, I’m nervous about dating again.
3
Wednesday approaches with unease. I continuously find my mind wandering off from my task, daydreaming about what this guy is like. While eating breakfast on Sunday, I catch myself staring off into the distance for so long that my entire bowl of cereal becomes far too soggy to eat. When I’m at my computer later, I accidentally create a six page document because my elbow is rested on the space bar, my chin in my hand, and I’m fantasizing about this mysterious man.
Sometimes I think he won’t be any different from the other guys I’ve dated: awkward, uninterested in who I really am, asks too many questions about my childhood. Other times, I fantasize about walking into Michelle’s and falling upon the perfect guy, but I push those thoughts aside because I don’t want to get my hopes up just to have them crushed.
What if I imagine him to be some hot cross between Edward Cullen and Christian Grey? Surely I’ll be far past disappointed. Okay, fuck that idea. Neither Edward Cullen nor Christian Grey are my type, and they’re far from the perfect boyfriends that they’re romanticized to be. Plus, I don’t think that level of hotness exists in real life, and I’m not about to prepare myself to meet the sexiest man on the planet. I just don’t want to hope for too much only to find myself dating a total loser.
I settle on the idea that he’s probably pretty average. Perhaps if I believe this until Wednesday, my daydreams will set me up for the most likely scenario. My mind continues wandering, flipping through the possibilities.
What exactly did Juliet mean when she said that he’s perfect for me, and why hasn’t he seen any of my movies? Did he grow up without a TV? Maybe he’s from another country. England, I hope, because those men have damn-fine accents. There I go again glamorizing this guy I’ve never met.
Perhaps I’m just too central to my past that I can’t see reality. Maybe there are just people in the world who never cared to watch a movie I was in. I’m way past the days of thinking I’m high and mighty, but it seems like everyone has seen at least one of them. I mean, people refer to Celina the Detective and Taking Reservations as classics.
The first movie I was in is about a little girl named Celina who gets bored and starts investigating the neighborhood. She’s one of those kids who thinks she has the high-tech gadgets and starts dressing like Sherlock Holmes. In the end, she saves her elderly neighbor after a heart attack since she’s always in everyone’s business. It was a heart-touching family film that quickly turned into a classic for most kids, and people still call me Celina to this day.
As for the second film, I played the role of Suzan, the daughter of Amanda, played by the stunning and still popular Elizabeth River. In the movie, Amanda and her daughter move to New York City from a rural area. Struggling to get by, Amanda opens a restaurant, and the movie follows them along their journey.
These two films were big hits, but the third wasn’t so much. Beyond the Meadow is about Sarah, who has nothing to do on summer vacation. For something to interest her, she begins exploring the family estate and heads beyond the meadow. There, she finds the land of the faeries and they crown her queen. Homesick, she returns to her parents, but since she believes it was a dream, she never goes back until she’s older and visits the estate again. In the end, the faeries cheer for their returned queen.
I stopped acting after the third film because I had been working with so many adults. There weren’t any kids my age, and all I wanted was a friend my age. Plus, I was so overwhelmed with the attention and limelight that I’m glad I got out when I did. I’m just thankful that I’m not as screwed up as some of the other actors and actresses my age. At least I managed to stay away from drugs.
It wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, though. I mean, I didn’t just get things handed to me. I started out acting in commercials just like everyone else. My first gig was a cereal commercial, but the roles didn’t just start coming as some people might believe. I worked my ass off in acting class to get all the techniques perfect, and I spent most of my free time studying scripts to attend auditions.
My parents didn’t spoil me, either. If I wanted to act, they were going to make me put in all the effort on my own to do it with the exception of transportation. And I did. They took me to countless auditions before landing my first role, and I had several rejections in between each movie.
When filming for Beyond the Meadow ended, I knew I was done acting. My parents rarely praised me for my success, and it just wasn’t my thing anymore. People ask me all the time why I don’t act anymore. My answer: I just don’t enjoy it. Web designing is my passion, and I’d much rather create beautiful web pages than stand in front of the camera performing the same scene over and over again all day.
But damn it, why hasn’t this guy heard of any of my movies? The more I think about it, the more of a mystery he is to me, and it fascinates me. Part of me is annoyed, but that only frustrates me further. Isn’t this what I want, a man who doesn’t judge me for my past? I can’t seem to set my mind straight to decide on an answer to this question. The mystery annoys the hell out of me.
In anticipation of the date, I try to get more out of Juliet on Tuesday night.
“What’s he like?” I ask.
Juliet smiles at me, looking up from her canvas that she’s working on. “I can’t tell you, Siobhan. You’ll have to figure that out yourself. I already divulged his name. I’m not telling you any more about him. That’s the point of a blind date.”
“Just tell me how hot he is,” I beg.
“Come on, Siobhan. He doesn’t know anything about you. It’s only fair that you go in not knowing anything about him.”
“What color are his eyes?”
“Siobhan Spencer,” she teases, “are you actually getting excited for a date?”
That statement alone stops my inquiries. I do not want to give this one to Juliet by admitting that I’m a bit excited. Hell, I don’t even want to admit it to myself.
I go to bed dreaming about the next day, my nerves shaking throughout my body while my excitement grows. Am I actually looking forward to this? Is Siobhan Spencer enthusiastic about her blind date?
If I’m speaking honestly, y
es. Yes, I’m excited to finally have a date again after not being involved with anyone for nearly two years. I want to talk to someone new, and not just a girl from my yoga class or a bartender at a club. I want to have a real conversation with a real man. Of course, I can’t admit this to Juliet. I maintain my façade of anger and annoyance at her, but in truth, I’m somewhat glad that she found someone for me. I’m just hoping beyond hope that I won’t be disappointed.
4
I wake early on Wednesday morning to prepare for my yoga class, which I take every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings to help relieve stress and maintain my flexibility. Mostly, I just enjoy it.
I take my time getting ready, allowing the warm shower water to cascade over me, and I find comfort in it. I exit the shower and blow dry my hair before twisting it up in a tight bun, letting my straight bangs fall to my eyes. I avoid the mirror as I prepare for the day.
I dress in my yoga pants and tank top, grab my yoga mat, and head out the door, locking it behind me. I’m not in a hurry, and I’m a bit early, so I stop at Starbucks along the way and grab myself a small cappuccino. Perhaps this isn’t the best way to relax early in the morning, but I feel like I need it if I’m going to get anywhere today.
I enter the studio and quietly join my classmates, spreading my yoga mat near the center of the room. I sit upon it cross-legged and close my eyes, focusing my attention on the sounds in the room as more people shuffle in to the yoga studio and chat away. I eavesdrop on neighboring conversations, although I don’t process much of it.
Normally I would talk with them, engaging in conversation with Jasmine or Abby, but today I block everyone out, and the way I’m presenting myself tells my classmates not to bother me.
I breathe in. I breathe out. I focus on my body and prepare myself for the session, but I find my mind wandering more than usual. Mostly, I can’t get this mysterious man out of my head. What is he like? Will he like me? What’s going to happen tonight?
Once everyone is settled in and the clock hits 6:30 a.m., Leanna Spears, our instructor, enters the room. Her bare feet are quiet on the hardwood floor, and she floats with grace to the front center of the studio. Leanna carefully positions her yoga mat on the floor and sits on it. For a few moments, she is silent, taking in deep breaths and releasing them so that we can all hear.
“Good morning,” she greets in a quiet, peaceful manner.
“Good morning,” the class murmurs in a uniform voice with the same degree of tranquility.
“Today, we’re going to focus on our breathing and really getting in tune with our bodies. Let’s start out with some breathing exercises.” Leanna presses a button on her iPod, initiating the calm, soothing music that fills the room for the rest of the session.
As she guides us through the breathing techniques, I once again find my mind wandering. Should I really wear that black dress tonight? And what should I do with my hair? Should I go with the red lipstick or not?
Leanna takes us further into our yoga poses, guiding us to downward-facing dog, through Chaturanga, and to some more advanced poses. When she advises us to take a rest in child’s pose, I find myself stuck there. My body refuses to move, and I rest my forehead on the mat. As I try focusing on my breathing and my body as she directs, I discover that the task is quite difficult, and my muscles forget how to relax. I’m grateful when we finish in corpse pose. I quickly leave the room, somewhat irritated that I didn’t get out of it what I really needed, which was to relieve my anxiety. If anything, I get even more edgy over the next 12 hours as 7:00 p.m. approaches.
I spend my day working on web development for clients, and I take breaks to update my blog and send a few tweets to my 120K followers, but I’m again trapped in low-productivity mode. God, I don’t even know this guy and he’s already affecting my performance.
When 5:00 rolls around, my stomach begins to flutter, and I attempt to fight it, not willing to admit that I’m actually looking forward to this. Damn Juliet Lane for making me feel this way. It’s not her responsibility. Without willing to admit it to myself, I know that I’m angry because Juliet is the only one eager enough to make a move for me, and I’m upset with myself for not taking a chance to ask anyone out recently. God, why am I even going on this date? I should go meet guys on my own, not rely on Juliet to find someone for me. I hate her for being so outgoing and confident.
Without trying, I start getting ready for my date early. In the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if I would make a best first impression with my hair up or down while simultaneously loathing my imperfections. This makes it difficult to concentrate on how I want to present myself.
I experiment with my hair a few different ways, but in the end, I decide to curl my hair and leave it down. I gaze at myself in approval, but for a final touch, I style my bangs to the right side and coat them in a mist of hairspray to make them stay. There. That makes me look a bit more mature.
I decide to apply my makeup at medium intensity, giving myself a dark brown eye shadow, rosy red cheeks, and bright red lipstick. I check the mirror for one last glance at my date look. Damn, I look really hot when I try. I know this is true, but I’m still trying to figure out a way to push in my sharp chin and pouty bottom lip. When I leave the mirror, the thought stops bothering me.
I dress in my sleek single-shoulder black dress and slip on a pair of high heels. When I return to the living room where Juliet is sitting with her laptop, she gapes at me, and her jaw drops.
“Ho-ly crap,” she says slowly.
“What?” I ask self-consciously. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. Siobhan Spencer, you did everything right.” She rises from the couch and circles around me, trying to get a good look from every angle. “Girl, you are hot!”
“That’s kind of what I was going for,” I say, and she nods her head in approval. “Well, I guess I’m off, then.”
She gives me that cheesy grin again and bends down to embrace me. “Have a great time, Siobhan. I know you’ll like him.”
I grab my purse and exit the apartment, walking slowly to the restaurant. I don’t want to get there too terribly early. I prefer that the guy is there first so that I don’t have to wait for him.
When I enter Michelle’s, I’m grateful that the restaurant is small, although the enormous mirror that spans the wall to my left makes the room seem larger than it really is. The restaurant is filled with earthy tones and has a happy ambiance that hits me as I walk through the door. Perhaps the credit for that goes to the delicious smell of food that complements the interior, and as it touches my nose, I realize that I haven’t eaten all day. My stomach growls in response to my thoughts.
I check my cell phone. It’s 7:07. I note the exact time and then slip my cell phone back into my purse.
I scan the tables, which aren’t overly crowded. My gaze falls upon a lone man wearing a cashmere sweater over a lavender collared shirt. I was skeptical about how the outfit would look when Juliet told me about it, but this guy really pulls it off. Is that real cashmere? I’m not good at spotting fabric types, but I guess it doesn’t matter to me either way.
Aside from his attractive features, I’m pleased that he’s punctual.
He sees me, and our eyes meet. With a wave of his hand, he gestures to me, letting me know that he’s my date for the night.
The way he gazes at me is odd. It really is like he’s seeing me for the first time, and there’s no look of shock in his eyes as if he recognizes me. I’m not used to it. This small detail alone intensifies my intrigue. Juliet was right. This guy doesn’t know anything about me, and it makes me want to get to know him even more.
“Just one?” the host asks. He gives me a puzzled look as if trying to place me. I know that look. That’s the I’ve Seen You In a Movie Before But What Movie Was It? look. I ignore it.
Without taking my eyes off Jacob, I answer. “My date’s already here.”
The host holds out his hand in a “you may pa
ss” kind of way, and I head to Jacob’s table, which is just big enough for two people and is tucked near the window.
There’s nothing special about Jacob’s appearance. He has no positively striking features, but every aspect of his face seems to come together perfectly, and he’s rather attractive. There’s a bit of stubble surrounding his jawline, but it’s well-groomed and suits him. His medium-brown hair is short, but the most notable feature on his face is his green eyes. They’re captivating.
This guy is certainly no Brad Pitt. I wouldn’t call him the sexiest man on the planet by any means, but he has a friendly smile and a fit build that makes me smile internally.
Juliet never told me how old he was, but he looks about my age, maybe older. Observing this, I wonder briefly why he’s on a date with me and not in a serious relationship, and then I find myself pondering what his past relationships have been like.
As I approach the table, he smiles at me, and I note that his grin is not only friendly but is quite charming in a romantic way.
Before I make it all the way there, he stands, moves to the other side of the table, and pulls out my chair for me. What a gentleman.
As he sits back down in his own spot, I hold my hand out to him. “Siobhan Spencer,” I introduce myself.
I can’t seem to wipe the giant grin off my face. Part of me is thrilled that he’s good-looking, another part of me is happy that he doesn’t recognize me, but the biggest part of my subconscious that is screaming out at me is the simple fact that I’m on a date. With a real guy. I feel like I should be more reluctant about this and less excited, but I’m just not.
“Jacob Bishop,” he says as he shakes my hand with a firm grip. He has a purely American accent. Damn, he’s not from England. This observation holds very little merit, however, since I’m already impressed by his chivalry.
As our hands touch, a spark flies between them. A literal spark. Not the butterflies-in-my-stomach kind of spark, but an honest-to-God shock conducts its way between our fingers.
