Henri: And ogle our dates’ phenomenal backsides. I’m going to ask Adam, the cute photographer from the shoot last week, you tell Cameron to wear some tight tuxedo pants, and we’ll be set for a night to remember.
Natalie: I will do no such thing.
Henri: Because you’re a fun killer.
Natalie: Yep. Speaking of, I have to go tell the fish station that she’s still cooking her shrimp thirty seconds too long. But I’ll let you know soon if I need the extra ticket.
Henri: You’ll need it. I’ll call the organizer and take care of it as soon as I pay for the humidifiers.
Natalie: But he might say no!
Henri: He won’t say no. Remember—you’re Mary Poppins, but with a sex vibe. And a much less cool attitude about sugar. Poor Crissy. Can I please bring her a chocolate croissant this weekend? The kid deserves a sweet treat every once in a while.
Natalie: Of course you can. As long as you take her to the park afterwards and let her run out the sugar rush for three or four hours. Or however long it takes to clear her system. Last time we had ice cream after dinner, she was so hyped up I couldn’t get her to sleep until one in the morning.
Henri: Hard nope on that, honey. I’m not that kind of uncle. I’m the kind who breezes in, creates joy and chaos, and then goes on my merry way, leaving the messy aftermath to the parents. It’s part of my charm.
Natalie: And it’s part of MY charm to confiscate sugar at the door and hide it to devour alone in my bed after Crissy’s asleep. It’s a ritual that occasionally ends with crumbs in the bed, but it makes the loneliness easier to bear. After all, sugar is nearly as good as sex.
Henri: No, it’s not. Not even close. You need to get laid before you forget how much fun it is. Or your vagina dries up like an apricot in the sun and falls off on the subway platform, and then you have to leave it behind you forever because once something has touched subway ground, it is forever UNCLEAN.
I literally have nightmares about my commute. I’m going back to using a car service to get to work. Yes, traffic is a bitch, but so am I, and I can’t deal with exposure to swarms of humanity being gross in my general direction first thing in the morning.
Today, I saw an old woman sharing a burrito with her yorkie. It was tucked into the front of her coat, and they were both going at that hot mess of rice and foul-smelling meat like it was their last meal. Then the dog started licking the hot sauce off her cheek and nibbling at something stuck between her teeth, and I had to turn away before I was scarred for life.
Natalie: Well, they do say dog mouths are cleaner than human mouths.
Henri: I can’t imagine how that could possibly be true. Dogs routinely lick their own backsides, woman! It’s never going to be okay to tongue-kiss Fido. Especially not in public, on the subway, where other people can’t escape the spectacle. And a rancid burrito should never be involved.
Natalie: Agreed. The amount of gross food I’ve seen on the subway since we arrived makes me want to buy the entire city a healthy vegetarian panini. And a pack of wet wipes. The antibacterial kind.
Henri: I’d throw a gala for that charity in a hot second. And I’m off to get two extra tickets to Friday’s gala now. Go lock down your boy before he gets another offer, and I’ll see you at six thirty at your place with Chinese. I don’t want to cook and you’re going to be my excuse to get takeout again.
Natalie: LOL. All right. Thank you. And keep your fingers crossed for me.
Henri: Will do, but you won’t need it. I have a feeling about this guy. A good feeling.
Chapter Nine
Natalie
I have a good feeling about Cam, too.
But I’m also mind-numbingly nervous.
I’ve never asked a man out, especially not after shutting him down numerous times.
There’s a good chance Cameron will decide I’m a case of whiplash he’d be smart to avoid. Or, worse, that he’ll say “yes” because I’m his boss, we’ll have a horrible time at the gala, and work will be an exercise in awkwardness for the foreseeable future.
It may have been a long time since I’ve dated, but I can tell when a guy is interested and when he’s not. I went on enough chemistry-free first dates after Phillip and I separated to know when a guy just “isn’t that into me.”
Dating in your thirties is so much harder than in your twenties. There are fewer single people to choose from, everyone has more emotional baggage, and so many of us have kids to consider. Wrangling the babysitting situation so you can leave the house after dark is hard enough, let alone figuring out how a child will fit into a future with a potential mate.