After cleaning Jayden up and changing his clothes, I settle him in a bedroom that appears to be a spare one by the lack of personalisation. Prepared with a bucket and towels beside the bed, I sit in a chair in the corner, keeping an eye on him.
Jayden has mumbled on and off, talking about his ex, but hasn’t been sick again.
At four a.m., eyes bulging out of my head and with a cracking headache, I decide it’s okay to leave him and go home.
I call Canberra Cabs, but they tell me it’s going to be at least a two-hour wait. When I try another company, they say they don’t do pickups from here as it’s out of area.
I ring back Canberra Cabs and book in a pickup for 6:20 a.m.
Longest. Night. Of. My. Life.
Has this been the worst first date of my life? Hmm. It’s debateable.
***
I awake to the sound of a car horn blaring. Clutching at my chest, my heart beating mad, I jerk upright in the chair and search the dimly lit room.
“Who’s beepin’?” Jayden grumbles from the bed.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and stand and grab my handbag. “I’m going to get going,” I say and step closer to the bed. “I hope you feel better.”
His eyes are splintered with red. He looks down at his clothes and groans when he sees the bucket. “W-what are you doin’ here, A…”
“It’s Abbie. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t choke on your own bodily fluids.”
He scales his hands down his face. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
He probably has no recollection of the horrid things he said to me.
The horn blares again.
“I’ve gotta go.”
Later that morning, he sends me a text.
Jayden: Thanks for looking out for me. Sorry. It must’ve been a shit night for you.
As shit as it was, in my heart I did the right thing. I could never leave someone in that situation. If I were him, I’d be asking my brother where the hell he went to.
Jayden hasn’t said anything about another date. I’m glad, because I’m not interested. I don’t need someone with hang-ups and I definitely don’t need to be with someone who has issues with my body. It’s beautiful just the way it is.
Me: That’s okay. I think you still have some feelings to deal with when it comes to your ex.
Jayden: You’re right. I do. Sorry.
No one is more mortified than Kate when I fill her in on my night.
“Oh, honey,” she says, clasping my hand as we sip at our coffees. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I potentially saved a life. I’m a local hero.”
Chapter Seven – JOHN
August
If I’m going to get anywhere on the dating front, I have to look for someone more mature than Jayden.
I read somewhere that the male brain doesn’t fully develop until around twenty-five years of age. There must be something trippy seeping into the water in Canberra, because the guys I know still have a bucket load of growing up to do at that age.
I make a match on Tinder with John, 36, horticulturist.
His photo is kind of hazy, but he looks cute, slightly weathered. It could be a result of spending his days outdoors. I don’t know much about gardening, but I’m certainly learning a thing or two about flowers when it comes to weddings.
When John suggests lunch at a café that serves the most exquisite doughnuts, I take it as a sign and agree to meet up.
For one, lunch is in the bright light of day. If things turn sour, I can always play the, ‘Sorry, I have to get back to work’, card.
Two, we found each other on Tinder, so there’s no way he’ll be spending the date hoping I have a penis.
And three, public place, no alcohol served.
Enough said.
***
After racing around the office all morning, I leave work and drive to Three Mills Bakery. When I get there, half the tables are occupied. Even though there are a few small tables with guys sitting on their own, I can’t tell if John is here.
I approach the counter and ask the young woman with freckles where the table booked for John is.
She points to the far corner near the window. A much older man is sitting there. From the deep lines on his face, he’s at least old enough to be my father, maybe older.
I turn back to the counter. “Um, are you sure?” Maybe she misheard me. “Table for two, for John?”
She nods. “Yup. I showed him to his table about five minutes ago.”
I huff a breath out my mouth. “And you had no other bookings with that name?”
The auburn bun on her head bobbles as she shakes her head. “No. Sorry.”
I take a deep breath in and straighten my spine. It’s taken me the last two months to put myself out there again. Have I been catfished by an older guy? A grandpa?
Hands sweaty, heart racing, I walk across the café and stop short in front of his table. “Excuse me, are you John?”
His eyes wander up my body. “Why, yes.” He pushes back his chair and slowly strands. It reminds me of how my grandad, Bill, used to move, thanks to shearing sheep until he was almost eighty.
This is a mistake. John is a common name. This isn’t the John I’m meeting today.
“Who are you meeting today?” I ask, gripping the top of the chair opposite him.
“Abbie. Are you Abbie?” He smiles. Wrinkles deepen all over his face. Did he upload a photo from like twenty years ago?
Son of a monkey.
I’m a fool. A damn fool.
“No, I’m not Abbie. I’m her sister.” Lie.
He winks. “Oh, I didn’t know she had a sister. You must be twins.”
“Um, yeah. So, the bad news is, my sis has come down with a horrific case of gastro.”
The deep lines on his brow grow even more pronounced. “Oh, really? That’s terrible.”
I place my hand on my hip and unleash my inner actress. Time for some flamboyance. “I mean, there was, like, shit everywhere. And don’t even get me started on the vomit.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he squirms in his seat. “Yes, well. I’ll message her and arrange another time.”
“Sure.” I turn in the opposite direction and huff out a breath.
“You’re welcome to join me,” John says as a waitress sets down a plate of assorted doughnuts and pastries in front of him. He looks up at me and licks at his thin lips. “I can’t eat all these on my own.”
Don’t think you can bribe me with food, creep. “No thanks.”
“Hmm, what a shame,” he says and moves a hand down to adjust his crutch. “You’d look good licking sugar off those plump lips.”
My stomach flips. He’s turned from semi-gentleman to first-grade creep in under a minute.
Unable to form words, I turn on my heel and storm to the counter. I order one of every flavour of doughnut and get the hell out of there.
When I get home, enjoying my doughnuts without beady prying eyes, I send him a message through Tinder.
John,
Don’t be a dick.
Don’t lie about your age.
And don’t creep on the sister of the person you’re trying to date.
Just don’t.
Abbie
I block John on Tinder and report him for putting false information in his profile. I want honesty in a relationship. If a man can’t even be truthful about his age, what else is he hiding?
No more Tinder for me. There has to be another way.
My phone beeps with a text.
Kate: How’d it go? Second-date material?
Oh, boy. She won’t believe it when I give her the deets. She’s already convinced I smashed several mirrors as a child, and my bad luck is yet to run out. She wants me to find someone, be happy. Whilst she hasn’t pushed me too much, it’s clear she’d like me to bring someone to her wedding.
I’m not just going to bring along some monkey, or middle-aged man, with serio
us issues. I’d rather go alone. Whoever comes with me has to be deserving to be present for my besties’ nuptials. It’s such a special occasion.
There is a way though that I can bring someone and be happy.
I just hope he says yes. Without wasting another second, I dial his number. I pace the floor until the call finally connects.
“Do I want to know?” Zac says and chuckles.
I huff and shake my head. “I got catfished.”
“Seriously? No. You can’t be that unlucky.”
“You wanna bet? I’ll have to tell you all about it over wine. You’d be so proud of my acting skills. But first, I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“What are you doing the first weekend in October?”
There’s a pause on the end of the line. “Um, nothing I can think of.”
You beauty. “Would you be my plus-one at Kate and Ben’s wedding?”
“I’d love to, but there is a condition.”
A condition?
“Sure.”
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not posing as your date. Now I’m out of the closet, I’ll be damned if I’m going back in.”
I squeal and dance on the spot. “No arguments there. We are gonna have the best time, Zachy.”
He laughs. “I look forward to it.”
Chapter Eight – RIVER
Mid October
It’s been three days since Kate’s wedding. What an epic night. After eating my way through a world-class hangover—thank you, McDonald’s—a cold sets in. It’s taken my head hostage. I should confine myself to the couch, but I need supplies.
Guilt riddles me as I meander around the supermarket, sharing my germs with unsuspecting shoppers.
Set with tissues and pain relief, I jump back in my car and reverse. A sneezing fit ensues. My foot presses down on the accelerator instead of the brake.
Bang.
Ah-choo!
The car rocks forward.
I glance at the rear-view mirror. A pale blue combi van.
What have I done?
I growl and drive forward into the park and kill the engine. I grab my handbag and walk over to the damaged vehicle.
The driver’s door opens and a young guy with light brown dreadlocks emerges. He’s wearing a white ‘Save the coral—save the reef’ T-shirt, ripped jeans, and thongs.
“I’m so sorry,” I say with my hands out towards him.
He walks around to the affected part of his car and crouches.
For an old car, it’s in pretty good condition—well, except for the now dented bumper bar and paintwork that’s splintered.
“It’s okay,” he says in a soft voice and rubs at his short beard. “It’ll be okay.” He looks up. When his brown eyes meet mine, a smile grows on his face.
Cute.
I take a couple of photos of the damage and the licence plate on my phone. “No, it’s not okay. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“These things happen,” he says in a calm, soft voice.
How is he not blowing smoke from his ears? The last time I had a fender bender, the guy abused me for being a pathetic female who had no right being on the road.
I reach into my bag and pull out a receipt from my recent shopping visit and a pen. I write down my name and number and hand it to him. “I’ll call my insurer and let them know what’s happened. What’s your name?”
“River.” Very cute.
“Abbie,” he says, staring at the paper. “That’s a beautiful name.”
My cheeks flush. “Oh, thanks.”
He rips the bottom of the receipt. “Can I borrow your pen?”
“Um, sure.” I hand it to him. He starts writing.
I blink back as my eyes water to the point of tears and sniff back. Should’ve stayed in bed.
He hands me the paper and pen and places his hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch has an instant calming effect. “You don’t sound so good. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a cold. But thanks. I’m sorry again.”
He clasps his hands in front of his chest in a praying motion. “Don’t stress. It’ll all be okay. It’s just a car. No one got hurt.”
What a sweetie.
We say our goodbyes. Did the universe orchestrate this meet? Tinder wasn’t for me. Set-ups aren’t for me.
Maybe a chance meeting is how I’m going to find someone special.
Later that night, I receive a text from an unknown number.
I hope you’re feeling better, Abbie. River :)
Butterflies stir in my belly. After ramming his car, River is more concerned about how I’m feeling than chasing down my insurance details.
Tick.
I retrieve the piece of paper from my bag with his name and number. Whilst we exchanged details under different circumstances, I can’t help but feel like maybe there could be something more.
I start typing out a reply to him.
Then I delete it.
Damn it, Abbie! You can do it. He’s not an old man. He’s young and thoughtful and even-tempered. The worst he can do is say no.
I retype the message and hit send before I chicken out.
I am feeling a little better, thanks. Would you like to have a coffee sometime? Once I’m recovered, of course :p
I sweat for five minutes, staring at the screen. Finally, three bubbles appear.
I’d like that very much. Whenever you are ready :)
I squeal and hold my phone to my chest. The universe is looking out for me. There’s something beautiful on the horizon.
I just know it.
***
For this time of year, it’s surprisingly warm. I’m glad River suggested getting outdoors and taking in some fresh air. Besides that, first dates can be so daunting sitting across from someone in a formal setting.
“Tell me about yourself, River,” I say as we walk around the lake, takeaway coffees in hand. I feel guilty for not bringing a glass KeepCup like River, but it certainly makes me want to buy one for next time. I like that River is environmentally responsible. More people should be.
“I’m a Libra,” he says and takes a small bow. Oh, he’s into horoscopes. Whilst some things I’ve read about my star sign carry some truth, I never take the daily horoscopes seriously. The way the papers write them, they’re vague enough to apply to almost anyone.
“I’m an Aquarius. Apparently, that means I’m somewhat of an enigma.” And apparently, tough to love from what one website said. Needless to say, I shut that site down before reading any more.
River gasps and places his hands on my shoulder. “We’re compatible.”
“We are?”
“The element of our star signs is air, which makes it easier to find common ground. Both signs have a drive to do something good in the world.”
Huh? “Interesting. I didn’t know that.”
He takes off his denim jacket. He’s wearing the same T-shirt he had on when I met him last week.
A strong hit of body odour drives up my nostrils. Crikey! When was the last time he showered?
Did he smell like this the first time we met? Was it because my nose was blocked that I missed it?
“So, where did you grow up?” I ask, trying desperately to ignore the smell.
“That’s a long story,” he says.
I shrug and look around the lake. If we walk slow, it’ll take us up to an hour. “Hey, we’ve got time.”
***
For the next hour, River tells me all about himself. And by all about, I mean he unloads the juicy details on everything.
He’s lived here and there, thanks to his father being in the army. Growing up, Major General Vaughan’s demanding ways were a burden on his spirit. They rarely speak now, because when they do, he puts all this pressure on him about having a decent job and being responsible.
River says it like it’s a bad thing. I’d give anything for my father to be here, guiding me in life.
River is disconnected
from his mother as she “just doesn’t get him anymore”. Once such a free spirit, ever since he turned eighteen, she’s changed sides and now conspires with her husband, so as parents they put on a united front. The only person who’s there for River these days is his grandmother. Occasionally she lets him use her laundry and bathroom facilities.
That explains the smell.
He always found it hard to fit in at a new school, having to move every few years when his dad would be transferred. He grew tired of being the kid with the long hair. The new kid who didn’t like sports. The new kid who was a weirdo because he’d voluntarily pick up rubbish on the playground that other kids would toss away without any thought for the environment and local wildlife.
Once we’ve rounded the lake, and are almost back at our starting point, it’s as if our meeting today has been therapeutic for him, kind of like a counselling session.
A relationship is all about getting to know someone. At the same time, it’s a two-way street. Our conversation thus far has really been a retelling of the trials and tribulations of River Vaughan, although he’s yet to talk about what he does for work. And he’s yet to ask about me.
Maybe it’s been a while since he’s had a captive audience.
“What do you do for work?” I finally ask.
He grunts. “I’m between jobs at the moment.”
Don’t judge him. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. It could be a result of a company facing tough times. He could’ve been laid off. With his trim frame, he certainly doesn’t look like he’s lazy.
“Oh?”
“My choice,” he says and snorts. “People need to take responsibility for their carbon footprint. I can’t work for a company that turns up their nose at climate change.”
I hum in agreeance. “Environmental issues are tricky,” I chip in, with not knowing what else to say.
“No, they’re not,” he barks. “They’re simple. You’re either responsible or you’re not. In this digital age, if you’re not paperless, then you’re just throwing away the earth’s resources.”
Nine First Dates Page 7
