Dating Games

by T. K. Leigh

  I met Chloe when I started working at the magazine several years ago. Her cubicle is next to mine, and we became fast friends. She’s the go-to on all things involving every celebrity out there. Hell, I haven’t even heard of some of the people I hear her discussing. Nora was her college roommate who now runs a yoga studio in the Village.

  “I guess I’m not serious enough for him.” I roll my eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Chloe presses, her lips formed into a tight line.

  “Start at the beginning,” Nora adds. “I want to know everything.”

  The last thing I want is to rehash what just happened. I’m surprised I made it out of that sushi restaurant without having a complete breakdown. There’s no telling how much longer I’ll be able to keep it together. At least I’m in a place with an endless supply of alcohol.

  “When I got there, he was sitting at a table in the corner. His legs were bouncing as he chewed on his nails. I thought he was nervous about popping the question. I guess the first clue should have been when I leaned in to kiss him and he turned so I kissed his cheek instead.”

  “He did not!” With wide eyes, Nora slams her hands on the bar, drawing the attention of several people.

  “He’s working on a huge case and the trial starts next week. I figured he might be worried about getting sick. I didn’t even think twice about it. He always turns into a germaphobe right before trial. When I sat down, he was still visibly anxious, which was absolutely adorable. I mean, he was about to propose. At least that’s what I thought.” I take another long sip of my manhattan, the effects of the alcohol loosening my lips.

  “Then he grabbed my hand and toyed with my ring finger. Or maybe I imagined he did because, in retrospect, there’s no way he’d do that. It doesn’t make sense. Anyway, he went on and on about how he’d been thinking about doing this for a while but didn’t know how I’d react, blah blah blah. I mean, the entire lead-up…the way he held my hand, the way he was so excitable, the way he made it sound like this was a monumental time in our relationship…made me think this was it. He was finally going to pop the question.”

  The more I speak, the louder my voice becomes. Gone is the heartbreak that consumed me when I watched Trevor walk out of my life without a single glance back. Now I’m annoyed. Annoyed that I gave twelve years to a man who tossed it aside because he didn’t think I was serious enough to be the wife of a partner at some stuffy law firm. Annoyed that I put so much effort into being the perfect girlfriend I believed he deserved. Annoyed I didn’t see the signs he wasn’t happy.

  “What did he say next?” Nora pulls her left hand away, hiding the engagement ring on her finger. When she first told us she was getting married, Chloe and I were both shocked. She’d only been dating her fiancé for three months, not to mention he started as a Tinder hookup that turned into more than a one-time thing. Although I doubt I’d personally be able to overlook the idea that my partner had been a player before me, he makes Nora happy. That’s all I care about.

  “What do you think? I was so wrapped up in the moment, it didn’t register he broke up with me at first. I was about to squeal ‘yes’ at the top of my lungs, but as I opened my mouth, I replayed his words in my mind. That’s when I realized he wasn’t reaching into his jacket for some ridiculously expensive ring. Instead, he said it was time we both went our separate ways. That if he wants to be partner, he needs to be more ‘serious’,” I explain, using air quotes.

  “More serious?” Chloe’s voice is laden with disgust. As far as friends go, she’s the cynical one. Nora’s the romantic one. And me… Well, I’m not sure what I am. They’d probably say I’m a mixture of both.

  “Apparently, he doesn’t consider a woman who writes about sex and dating for a living as serious, at least not to his standards. But that’s complete bullshit! I’m serious! Look at me.” I gesture at my business attire. Then I raise my martini glass. “I’m drinking alcohol out of a glass with a stem. If that doesn’t say maturity, I don’t know what does. If I were immature, you two would be holding my legs in the air while I did a keg stand or something like that.”

  “I don’t think he means you’re immature,” Nora assures me with all the sympathy and compassion I’ve come to expect from her. “You’re sophisticated, motivated, not to mention talented. Don’t mistake immaturity as having a sense of humor. You have the latter in spades. Regardless, you’re also driven. How many other people can claim to be doing exactly what they set their mind to when they were just a teenager?”

  I shrug, brushing it off.

  “You made your own way in this industry,” Chloe adds. “The only reason I got the job I did was because my dad works for the Times and made phone calls. Not you. You didn’t know a soul. You got in on talent and drive alone. So don’t let Trevor make you think you lack motivation.”

  “Oh, but I do.” My voice oozes sarcasm. “Obviously, since I have a degree in English, I should be doing something more than writing articles about sex. But I like having a sex and dating column.”

  “He’s a prick for not supporting you, especially if you enjoy what you do. I don’t see you giving him a hard time for not making partner yet.”

  I scoff. “Well, according to him, at least he has a real job.” I dig my fingers through my hair, yanking at it, groaning in frustration. “Couldn’t he have chosen a different day? Any other day? Now I’ll forever equate my thirtieth birthday with the day he broke up with me.”

  I reach for my drink, about to take another sip, when I spy a handsome man in a suit walking past the bar, his hand on the lower back of a beautiful woman wearing a cocktail dress. The alcohol loosening my inhibitions, I call out to him. “Hey! You!”

  Surprisingly, he pauses, both he and who I assume to be his date looking at me. They probably stopped here to grab a drink before heading off to the theater or some romantic dinner. Hell, he may even be proposing tonight.

  “You look like a person with good judgment, someone who’s not a complete moron.”

  “Thank…you?” he replies with a wavering smile, unsure what to make of my statement.

  “Would you ever break up with your girlfriend on an important date, say… I don’t know. I’ll just pull something out of thin air. Her birthday?”

  “God no.” He laughs, peering down at the woman beside him. There’s a warmth and affection between them. I had that. At least I thought I did. Now what am I supposed to do?

  I don’t know life without Trevor in it. I’ve never imagined the possibility. Am I supposed to pretend I’ll be okay, that I can fall out of love as quickly as he did? We were together longer than most married couples. At least longer than Brittany Spears’ marriages.

  He looks back to me. “I’d never live to see another day if I did that.”

  “Thank you, sir!” I lift my glass, toasting him. “You are a gentleman. My boyfriend, well…ex-boyfriend is not. It’s my thirtieth birthday today.”

  The bar erupts in applause and congratulatory shouts of happy birthday. I’m not sure why, but something about the combination of their applause and the alcohol flowing through me has me standing and curtseying to my new friends.

  “Thank you. Thank you. And do you know what my boyfriend of twelve years gave me as a birthday present?”

  I scan the bar area. Now that it’s close to seven on a Thursday night, the booths and tables in the remodeled industrial space are filled with a mixture of locals and tourists. Despite that, the background chatter has become almost non-existent, everyone interested in what I have to say. I suppose learning about a stranger’s pathetic heartbreak is infinitely more interesting than discussing the unstable markets.

  A woman calls out from the opposite end of the bar. “It better have been a ring!”

  I point at her. “After this long, I thought it would be. I earned that much. We met during my freshman year of college. The instant I saw him walk into my history class, I no longer cared about the Battle of Bunker Hill. I just wanted him to bunk my hill.
”

  A roar of laughter tears through the space, causing me to smile for the first time all evening. I look at Nora and Chloe, who both wear bemused expressions on their faces. Maybe this is what Trevor referred to when he said he needed to be with someone more serious. I thought he liked the fact I’m on the eccentric side, that I don’t mind being the center of attention. After all, I minored in theater. Hell, my bold personality is what caught his attention all those years ago.

  “When he smiled at me that day…” I trail off, placing my hand over my heart, sighing. “I swore I heard music. I know what you’re thinking,” I add quickly, hoisting myself up onto the bartop so I can address the crowd.

  Aiden doesn’t stop me. A smirk forms on his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, amusement sparkling in his devilish dark eyes. Too bad he’s gay. He would be a great rebound, if I were into that kind of thing.

  “That I had probably just come from a meeting of what we called the 420 Club.” I lock eyes with a table full of twenty-something men, who nod in understanding. “You guys know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” They lift their beers, laughing, as I address the rest of the bar once more. “But honestly, I heard music. If hearing music in your head doesn’t mean you’ve just found your fucking soul mate, I probably belong in a straitjacket. Which may be the case anyway, but I digress.” Grabbing my glass, I take another sip of my drink, before continuing.

  “I’ve always been a planner. My mother claims I was the one who put her on a schedule for my feedings as a baby, not the other way around. So even when I was a little girl, I knew the type of man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Just my luck that man went to the University of Nebraska, too.”

  “Go Huskers!” a voice shouts, and I look in its direction.

  “You’re from Nebraska?” I ask a man I estimate to be in his mid-fifties. His skin is pale, gray hair thinning.

  He nods. “Kearney.”

  “Ah, so you had electricity.”

  Chuckling, he nods once more. “Most days.”

  “Well, I grew up in a little town called Hickman.” I pause for emphasis, which I learned in some of my acting classes. “Let me repeat that for you. Hick…man, Nebraska. I mean, if that doesn’t scream we marry our cousins, I don’t know what does.”

  Laughter fills the space once more. I glance behind me, meeting Aiden’s eyes as he leans against the back counter and winks. He probably didn’t expect there to be an opening act for the band scheduled to play later. I hand him my glass, an unspoken request for him to fill it. Two manhattans and two tequila shots in the span of less than an hour isn’t a smart idea, but being smart isn’t in the cards for me tonight.

  “Now, something I should mention is that I have a slight affinity for the number three.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t ask. And no, I’m not OCD and have to lock and unlock the door three times. Except on the third day of the third week of the third month of the year.”

  There’s another burst of laughter and applause. Once it dies down, I continue. “I like to think it was a sign when Trevor walked into my history class at exactly 3 PM on September third and proceeded to sit in the third row of the lecture hall… Which also so happened to be the row I sat in because, well, it was the third row. I always sat in the third row.”

  I feel a tap on my back and glance behind me to see Aiden handing me a fresh drink. I thank him with a smile, then take a sip before placing the glass beside me on the bar.

  “Our relationship began like all good relationships do… By me pretending to be inept at U.S. history so he’d tutor me.” I bat my eyelashes, passing everyone a demure look. “But after our first test and he saw I got the top grade in the class, he realized it was all a ploy. So he asked me out, and the rest is history.

  “Fast forward four years. Trevor graduated with a degree in finance. I graduated with a degree in English and a minor in theater, which is probably why I have absolutely no problem telling a bar of complete strangers about my breakup. And my mother said theater would be useless.” I roll my eyes, my expression oozing sarcasm. “I’m proving her wrong this very second. Anyway, after graduation, Trevor was accepted into Columbia Law here in New York. There wasn’t even a question in my mind. I would move to New York with him.”

  A nostalgic smile lights up my face as I recall those early days of living in the city. For the longest time, I thought I made a mistake, especially when I was forced to take a cold shower in the middle of winter because the building superintendent hadn’t fixed the hot water heater. Or when the smoke alarm went off anytime I tried to cook because it was placed right above the stove. Or when we lost power on Christmas and had to order Chinese takeout because the meal I’d planned was a lost cause without electricity. At the time, all the disasters made me long for the comfort and space of Nebraska. I now look back on everything and laugh.

  “I worked as a bridal assistant for a wedding planner during the day. Honestly, it was the perfect job for someone as obsessed with planning and organization as I am. Essentially, I was the bride’s bitch. ‘You need Voss water instead of Evian? At your service.’ ‘You don’t want your maid of honor to look better than you, even though she’s prettier on the inside and out? That can be arranged. We’ll be sure to pick a dress style that doesn’t complement her body type.’ ‘Don’t want the groom to find out you had one last fling with his best man the night before the wedding? There’s the morning-after pill for that.’

  “However, being a wedding planner’s assistant didn’t pay enough to cover all our bills, not to mention my student loans, so I got a second job as a bartender. All to support Trevor so the only thing he had to worry about was studying. I figured he’d return the favor down the road. I suppose he did, in his own way. After he passed the bar and got a job at an incredible firm, we eventually moved into a great apartment in Brooklyn. One he paid for, which he reminds me regularly.” I pinch my lips, shaking my head at how blind I’ve been. “My support of his dreams has been nothing short of unwavering. I don’t think he’s ever truly supported me in mine.”

  I jump off the bartop and grab my glass, pacing as I attempt to come to terms with how Trevor could be so callous as to break up with me without even a hint of remorse or regret.

  “I was the perfect girlfriend. I kept our place clean, despite working long hours. On those nights he worked late, I often dropped by the firm to bring him dinner. I was so convinced if I did everything right, we’d fly off into the sunset like Danny and Sandy and live happily ever after. Hell, I even waxed for him.” I gesture to my crotch area. “Do you have any idea how much that hurts? That shit feels like someone just doused gasoline all over your nether regions, then lit a match and tossed it, forcing you to wallow in agony for hours with no relief in sight.” I pause, allowing the laughter to swell, then die down. “But I did it for him. Because that’s what people do when they’re in love, isn’t it? They do everything to keep the other person happy.”

  Everyone seems to nod in agreement.

  “What they don’t do is break up with them on their thirtieth…fucking…birthday because they no longer think their partner of twelve years is serious enough.”

  “Fuck him,” a man shouts above the silence, his New York accent thick. I look in his direction as he raises his beer toward me. “He doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

  I nod, smiling in appreciation. “You’re probably right. Because everything he’s done tells me I deserve someone so much better than what I allowed myself to settle for, all because he checked off every box the teenage version of myself said she wanted in a potential husband.”

  I blow out a long breath, blinking back the tears forming. “But how do you tell your heart to stop loving someone?”

  My expression turns pleading, inwardly wishing someone has the secret to this. The atmosphere shifts, becoming more solemn. I hate ending my story on such a sour note, so I force a smile, although it doesn’t reach my eyes.

  “I’ll tell you what you do, Ev
ie.” My voice wavers. “You take a page from Scarlett ‘Fuck All Men’ O’Hara. A lovely Irish lass, much like myself. You worry about it tomorrow.” I lift my glass and practically the entire bar follows suit. “Because tomorrow is another day,” I finish in my best Scarlett O’Hara impression.

  In an instant, the deafening sound of cheers and applause surrounds me. By morning, I may regret consuming the amount of alcohol that provided me the loose lips to share my heartache with a room of strangers. Based on the phones that have been pointed at me the past several minutes, I’m sure I’ll be a viral sensation by tomorrow. Right now, none of that matters. All that does is trying to salvage what I can of my thirtieth birthday.

  With a smile, I curtsey once more, slowly turning to each corner of the bar to offer my thanks for their rapt attention.

  And that’s when I notice him.

  Outwardly, there’s nothing unique about him.

  Except for the disheveled light brown hair that curls over the collar of his perfectly tailored suit.

  Except for the penetrating blue eyes that remain locked on me, the heat in his gaze making me think he can read my innermost secrets.

  Except for the way he’s the only one not clapping, simply assessing everything about me.

  He’s sitting by himself at a table in the corner, away from the regular Thursday evening revelry. While this isn’t a complete dive bar, he still seems out of place with his Armani suit and Tag Heuer watch. Needless to say, I’m intrigued. Who is he? Why is he peering at me in a way that makes me feel like he can see straight through the mask?

  “What are you going to do about your living situation?” Nora asks once the laughter and applause die down.

  I snap out of my daze and lower myself back to my chair. My limbs are jittery as I take a deep breath, unable to shake the heat of a pair of blue eyes staring at me.

  “I’m not sure.” My voice is distant. “He said I didn’t have to move out right away. And maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe Trevor needs some time to realize what a mistake this is.”