“Our date,” he says. His hand is still lying there unattended. “I’m glad we planned it, and I’m glad we decided to take this opportunity to go out. I really like you, Sophie. I like your scones and coffee and obviously enjoy studying at The Cup and the Cake.” His cheeks become a very slight shade of pink. “But I’m not there just because of the scones and coffee.”
I swallow the forming frog in my throat, trying to be surreptitious about it by batting at the loose strands of my bangs at the same time.
His hand creeps closer, and I stare down at it, mouth slightly parted. “I like you a lot, Sophie, and I’m really happy we finally made this happen.”
“Dean,” I splutter as I feel the frog grow. I flash a quick smile, not wanting to cause him any embarrassment or pain. “I don’t want to date with any expectations.”
I don’t know from where the courage to speak what I’m feeling has come. I take a quick peek in my mug. Liquid courage? Nope. There’s certainly no hidden schnapps in there. Regardless of where the sudden courage has come from, I continue. “I’m not really looking for a relationship or anything serious right now, Dean.”
It’s the standard lie you tell when you’re really hoping there won’t be an offer for a second date…at least not one that’s any more serious than a generic first date.
I blink repeatedly, eyes fixed on the lip-gloss stain on the rim of my coffee mug. Please take this well, please take this well…
“That’s fine,” he replies.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
I swallow hard and say, “I don’t want grandiose expectations or anything, that’s all. I’m approaching dating with a no-expectations kind of attitude.”
I really don’t know where all of this hogwash is coming from. I mean, yes dating can be hard and awkward, and schlepping through all that work that, most likely, will end up in heartbreak? Ugh! God knows I’ve done enough of that. But does a no-expectations attitude—“nothing serious”—insinuate I want a quickie? A fling? God knows I’ve done enough of that, too!
I put a hand to my clammy forehead. I don’t know if I’m making clear the point that I want to make, so I swallow away the frog in my throat one last time and push on.
“Dean, I’m just not in a place right now to take any serious steps. I like you.” Yes, Sophie, this much is true. Just don’t give mixed signals… “You’re a nice guy, and I like the idea of getting to know each other. But no expectations. Is that all right with you?” I finally bring my eyes to meet his after a long while.
He doesn’t look sad or hurt, nor does he look excited and agreeable. He just looks kind of…empty and distant.
“Dean?”
“I don’t have any expectations either,” he says finally, shaking his head and jutting out his bottom lip as his forehead creases into a frown. “This is a first date, that’s all.”
I mentally heave out a sigh of relief. Thank god! I think.
“Great,” I say. I pat his hand, which is still resting, palm halfway open, in the middle of the table, although it looks rather limp now. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Me, too,” he says in no distinct tone. He points at my mug. “Can I get you a refill?” I tilt my mug and notice that it’s nearly drained. “You’re always serving me; how about I serve you?”
“Well in that case,” I say, handing over my mug, “I’ll take a decaf capp, please.”
“Oooh, sounds good.” He stands, taking both mugs with him. “Guess we’re more on the same page than we thought.”
Yeah, I think with a small flurry of uneasiness and a forced grin. Maybe we are, maybe we aren’t.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Oh, wow!” I shriek when Emily swings her apartment door open, her cheerful, very tan, and glowing face greeting me, all-smiles. “Omigod, you’re here! You’re here already!” I pull a Claire and begin to jump up and down, arms outstretched.
“Hey, Sophie!” Emily cries jubilantly as I barrel into her, tightly wrapping my arms around her. “It’s been so long.”
I give her a hearty, welcoming squeeze. “Far too long.”
I pull back and take a good look at her. On the outside Emily doesn’t look any different, except for the fact that her usually olive-colored skin is now tanned quite a dark shade. She’s still wearing her hair in thick, red-colored dreadlocks, only now a single, thinner lock has been strung with yellow, green, and blue beads. She’s displaying her usual collection of jewelry—leather cuffs, beaded bracelets mixed in with silver and bronze bangles, chunky rings, a few leather-strap and hemp-stringed necklaces, a combination of various metal studs and rings running up the lengths of both ears, a small golden stud in her nose. To match her eclectic display of jewelry she’s dressed in a pair of brightly colored, flowing linen pants cinched about the waist with a thick, pumpkin-colored leather belt and a simple t-shirt in cream that reads in thick, black letters, Brisbane or Bust.
On the inside, though, Emily has changed—she’s grown. Her horizon, as happens after all of her stints abroad, has been broadened. She’s been exposed to yet another unique culture, a different way of life, and has taken pieces of it and applied it to her own life. Behind her warm brown eyes you can see that since her travels to Australia she’s more content, more spirited, more enlightened. She wears travel well. Yet though her perspective widens and alters with each trek, she’s still the same carefree, open-minded, warm, and sweet friend I’ve known her to be for ten years.
“It’s so good to see you, Sophie,” Emily says, giving my upper arm a strong pat. She casually thanks me for getting off work early for the reunion and waves me on in to her apartment.
“Oh, please,” I say with a flick of the wrist. I enter her apartment—her much-improved apartment, might I add—and I’m greeted by a chorus of “Hey!”s from Robin, Lara, and Jackie.
“Hmm, the choice was stay at work or close up early to see one of my besties, whom I haven’t seen in ages?” I say in a kidding tone to Emily as I hang my purse on the peg by the front door. “No contest. Besides, I’ve been closing up early now and then anyway.”
“Broken oven, so I’ve heard?” Emily replies.
“It got fixed today, right?” Jackie blurts. “That was supposed to happen today, right?” She begins to look a twinge frazzled. “I didn’t go and goof on you, did I?”
“Nope.” I dive into the free spot on the sofa next to Lara, who gives me a quick kiss on the cheek hello.
“Repairman came by,” I say to Jackie, “and said he’s got to go and get some special part.” I roll my eyes. “It’ll probably be another few days before he’s got the stupid part and can fix it. I swear.” I puff out a breath of air, exasperated.
“Bullshit,” Jackie says with a sharp shake of her head. “Total bullshit.”
“Whatever,” I say, my voice turning up a more spirited road. “This isn’t the time to rag on about crises. Emily is back!” I exuberantly clap my hands. “Finally back! You must tell us all about Australia, Em. Pictures, too, right?”
“Of course,” Emily sings. She trots briskly across her living room floor, then takes a seat on the luxe sofa in between Robin and Jackie.
Emily’s apartment used to be kind of a hovel. She’s never in Seattle for long stretches at a time, so she never really put much effort into decorating her place. But now, after Interior Designer Jackie got her hands on it this summer, it looks like a lived-in place. And I’m not talking about lived-in with Jackie’s clothes strewn about the bedroom, her makeup covering every square inch of the bathroom. Jackie used to crash at Em’s place all the time way back, and even when she and Andrew had their falling out this summer. The place always looked like Carrie Bradshaw’s closet had exploded.
No, now the apartment looks lived-in because it’s finally decorated, and in a very Emily sort of style.
Jackie, with her designer eye, transformed the place nicely, and on a strict budget, too. While Emily’s loaded thanks to her trust fund, s
he couldn’t care less about money and material possessions. I guess a decorated apartment fell under the “unnecessary expenditures” column, so for years (whenever Jackie wasn’t screaming squatter’s rights) the place looked practically abandoned.
Now, with a mixture of high-end living room furniture Emily got a few years back as a gift from Jackie and several very eclectic pieces Jackie found and crafted over the summer, Emily’s apartment is very cozy.
I reach for the bowl of green grapes on the hand-crafted coffee table Jackie cleverly created using old bottle crates.
“So,” I say, looking around to each of the girls, “have I missed anything good?”
“Emily,” Robin says, crossing one leg over the other. She smoothes out her beige dress pants. “You have some interesting news.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jackie says loudly.
I look at Emily, agog. “What? What is it?”
“Gatz and I are kind of parents,” Emily reveals abashedly.
“You’re what?” I practically spit out the chewed-up grape in my mouth. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No.” Emily brusquely shakes her head. “No, no. Not at all.”
“Whoa,” a familiar male voice sounds from the bedroom.
A second later a lanky Gatz emerges, the beard he’d been growing now reduced to a very light layer of dark scruff. He rubs at the back of his head, his brunette curls rustling all about in a fro-like way. Despite the winter weather, his bare toes are peeking out from under the long, draping hems of his cream-colored linen pants, and he’s wearing a plain black tank-top undershirt. He looks like he’s just crawled out of bed.
“Who said anything about being pregnant?” Gatz looks at Robin. “Another one?”
“No, no,” Emily says insistently. “No one’s pregnant.” She pans about. “Well, I don’t think anyone is…” Her eyes fall to Robin.
“Goodness,” Robin groans through a laugh, tossing her hands up. “I’m not a machine, people. As often as it seems I’m pregnant or talking baby news, or have drool and spit-up on my clothes, I’m not having another one. Not for a while.”
“Well?” I ask. “What do you mean you and Gatz are parents?” I look to Emily expectantly.
Gatz chuckles, wandering into the kitchen. “We’re kind of parents,” he calls out. “Adoptive parents, more like it.”
“Emily?” I feel my eyes grow round, and Emily just laughs so casually.
“It’s not what you girls think,” she says.
“It’s definitely not,” Lara says pragmatically.
“Gatz and I adopted a baby koala, named Smitty.” Emily fishes in her large, cloth, patchwork bag and produces a Polaroid. “See? That’s Smitty. A fourteen-week—”
“Fifteen now,” Gatz corrects from around the kitchen corner.
“Fifteen-week-old baby koala,” Emily says. She hands me the picture, and I immediately get all gooey. The baby koala is adorable, its doe-like eyes staring innocently into the camera.
“Okay,” I say, handing the photo to Jackie, who’s begging to get another look at it. “You totally had me scared there.” I put a hand to my heart and exhale.
Jackie’s face scrunches in confusion as she says, “I don’t get it. Does it like, live with you? In your apartment? Is it like…your baby?”
“No, silly,” Emily replies. “It’s just like adopting an animal at a zoo. Our donation helps feed it, take care of it…you know? Adopting it.”
Jackie’s face is still wrinkled in puzzlement. Then she just shrugs and says, “Well, adopting a koala isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had, Em. Maybe the weirdest…” She passes the Polaroid to Robin. “I guess it’s not as crazy as that idea you had about adopting a baby, huh?”
“Some day I want to adopt,” Emily says succinctly. She pulls a leg into her chest, taking a peek at Smitty. “Have one of my own…some day.”
“Some day have one of your own? Or some day adopt?” Jackie pries.
“Both,” Gatz says, reappearing. He has a sliced bagel in one hand and a bottle of fruit juice in the other. “Right?”
“Yup.” Emily looks proud.
“But not for a long while,” Gatz says with such breeziness. He saunters towards the bedroom.
“Whoa,” I gasp, unable to believe my ears. “You guys are actually talking about kids?”
“Yeah.” Emily shrugs just as casually as Gatz delivered the baby bundle news.
“Wow,” I breathe.
“We talk about a lot of stuff,” Gatz says, turning on his heel. He takes a hearty bite of his bagel and leans against the bedroom doorframe.
“Yeah, hypothetical stuff, plans, goals…” Emily pops a grape into her mouth. “We talk about having and adopting kids just like we talk about climbing Mount Kilimanjaro together.” She casts about the room cavalierly.
“Aw, babe, we’ve so got to look into that,” Gatz groans as he chews.
“They’re very open,” Jackie teases. She looks at me with a cutesy expression—mouth puckered like a fish, brow knitting—and nods her head in a very knowing manner. “Very open.”
“We are.” Emily cranes her neck and flashes Gatz a smile. “Aren’t we, babe?”
“You know it.” He makes a cheering motion with his bagel.
“So,” Lara says, voice somewhat low, “are you, like, talking marriage, too?”
Emily and Gatz simultaneously erupt into a fit of laughter.
“Lord, no,” Emily says huskily. “No offense to those who have tied the knot or plan to,” she looks to Robin, then Jackie, both of whom don’t seem the least bit fazed, “but Gatz and I aren’t really the marrying type.”
“Technically, I guess we’ve talked about it,” Gatz says before taking a swig of juice. “Talked about how we don’t think it’s for us.”
“Exactly.” Emily folds her hands and wraps them over a bent knee. “We love each other, but we’re not going to be forced by societal norms and pressures to enter into a legally binding contract that is supposedly the ultimate proof of true love.”
“Right on,” Gatz says with a full mouth.
“Got it, got it,” Jackie says. She shoves Emily in the arm. “Don’t get all hokey-pokey-hippie on us.”
“Besides,” Emily says, “so long as gays and lesbians can’t get married—state-to-state, around the world—I’m just not comfortable with the institution.” Emily looks to Gatz, who nods in agreement.
“Well, I guess the first step to proving your eternal love,” Robin says with a silly smirk, “is to adopt baby koalas. Nice job.” She snags the picture from Jackie. “He’s a cutie, too.”
“Takes after Gatz,” Jackie roars, clapping her knees.
“Ha, ha.” Gatz strides over and gives me a hug and a kiss on each cheek. “Nice to see you again, by the way, Sophie.”
As he heads back towards the bedroom he asks how the café’s going. I tell him it’s going well, but that of course any time he and Emily want to give up their holiday Down Under they can definitely strap an apron back on.
Gatz just chuckles, then pivots on his heels, taking a hearty swig of juice.
“You don’t want to stick around for some girl time?” I say in jest.
“I’m beat,” he says. “Time-change isn’t setting well with me, so I’m calling it a night.” He waves the juice bottle at us. “Nice to see you girls again. ‘Night.”
“Wow, Em,” I say, looking at her as she toys with a dreadlock. “Seems like you definitely found your perfect match.”
“It’s nauseating, isn’t it?” Jackie says. She crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. Emily gives her a playful smack on the thigh, and Jackie yelps.
“Speaking of perfect matches,” Lara sings, “you never dished about your date, Sophie. How was it?”
“Yes! Dean!” Jackie sits up taller in her seat.
As planned, I’d already called Claire and dished about the date, and seeing how it didn’t go super well, I’m not very keen on rehashing the whole eventless
deal with the rest of the girls.
But, that’s the name of the game sometimes, especially when it comes to first dates. Well…first dates that don’t take place in Paris, I suppose. First dates you don’t keep tucked under the rug.
I proceed to tell the girls all about my date with Dean, filling them in on the awkwardness of many of the moments, even the eventual “we should do this again some time” that came about at the close of the date.
Dean had offered to drive me home afterwards, seeing how my apartment’s a few blocks away from Café Baudelaire, but my car was still at The Cup and the Cake. It didn’t make any sense; the logistics were too complicated.
Then Dean went a step too far and offered to take me home anyhow, then pick me up in the morning and drive me to work and… Yeah, that was too much. What part of casual and “no expectations” did he not get? Besides, letting him know where I live isn’t the wisest of moves so early on in the game, especially when I’m honestly not very sure the game will last much longer.
Dean’s a nice guy, and he did agree to keep things casual and slow and without pressure, but a few minutes into our date it was clear as day that he had other intentions.
He’s ready to find love, attack it (if he must), and settle down with it. He wants the home, the kids, the career, the happily-ever-after. It’s nice and all, and I want that too…someday. And with the right man. It was all so fast, though, and just too much.
But, since he did agree that he was fine with the whole “no expectations” thing (despite the strong signals indicating otherwise), I figured what’s the harm in a second date? Maybe he will be low-key, no expectations next time around?
I mean, the girls have pushed for me to take a risk and put myself back on the market. And Dean did ask at the end of our evening at Café Baudelaire if I wanted to go out with him again. How horribly awkward would it have been to say no? That’s one of the worst parts about dating—when one party is interested in seeing where things go and the other is already at the closing credits of the film, ready to high-tail it on home and call it a night…tonight and for all other nights in the future. However, I figure one more date can’t hurt, and the girls unanimously agree. So, here goes nothing.
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 18
