I made up some excuse about not being ready,
apologized profusely, assured him it was me and not him, then
got in my car and probably burned off half my tires trying to
get out of the parking lot. I burst into tears a few blocks later.
So here I am at date five.
I wait. And wait. I chew through the rest of the basket
of bread. Drink the rest of my wine. Make apologies and
muttered assurances to the flustered waiter.
And still, I’m alone.
I wait an hour, then give up. The guy, Richard, is
obviously a no-show. I should have known that nothing good
could come from someone named Richard. No wonder
everyone calls them Dick.
I pay the bill and leave, my pride holding me together
until I get into the car. I lock the doors and fire off a quick
email to Adley. She responds right away when I tell her that
Richard never showed.
Oh my god. I just messaged him online. He’s signed in.
He went to the wrong place. Apparently, there are two with the
same name. I’m so sorry. I should have double checked the
address. I feel so bad! Do you want me to reschedule? Or see
if he will?
I think about that for a second, then, shaking my head,
I type her a response, telling her not to bother, that everything
is fine. I do end it by stating that maybe I just need to take a
break for a bit.
It’s the wrong thing to say, and a panicked email pops
up almost immediately.
Don’t do that. Don’t give up. I’m sorry that you had a
few bad dates or ones that just weren’t right. Normally I do