Blind Date

He married the petite young blonde within a year of leaving Jen.

“I just need some time, Jennifer,” Josh said, as she pushed her chair back to clear their dishes from the dinner table. “Some space. I feel like I can’t be myself here.” She slowly sat back down. She’d dropped her spoon earlier and the chili on the table had crusted over. She stared at the brown chili blot, refusing to look at him. Everything blurred as her eyes filled with tears and she dabbed them with a crumpled, chili-stained napkin. His hand touched hers and she yanked away as if something had burned her.

“Babe, it’s really not you; it’s me,” he said

“You’re goddamn right it’s you!” She grabbed the dishes she’d meant to clear and hurled them down the table against the wall. Then there were reddish-brown chili stains everywhere. She stared at the mess and recalled how she and Josh excitedly went to the paint store together and picked out the buttery, ivory color called Vanilla Ice Cream.

He left that night. Eight weeks later, his thick, soft beard, which she’d loved, was shaved clean. She stayed up late, numbly scrubbing chili stains from the wall.

The first miscarriage was tough, but they’d gotten through it.

“It’s ok,” Josh said as he held her. “We’ll try again.” He’d wanted kids, lots of them. It was something they’d agreed on before getting married. The second miscarriage was harder. Jen felt defective. On their fourth pregnancy, they were too nervous to tell anyone. When she miscarried in the fifth month, they stopped trying. Pain sliced through her like a hot knife, leaving an empty wound that never quite healed. She needed him to reach out and hold her hand, tell her it’ll be alright, but he stopped doing that, too. Jen and Josh. Josh and Jen. It had been so perfect. Until it wasn’t.

***

Jen ripped through her closet, rejecting outfits. Too low cut. Too prim. Too… no. She stepped into a knee-length red skirt. It jammed at her thighs, cutting into the flesh, refusing to budge. She yanked it down and kicked it to the side. Too small. Or rather, she was too big. The Pilates classes she started last week clearly weren’t working yet.

Sighing, she reached for black stretch leggings and a long teal blouse. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to go on this date. It would be simpler to succumb to ice cream and Netflix, but she’d been trying to eat healthier.

The idea of dating again at her age was scary. However, the prospect of living out the remainder of her life eating every meal alone was terrifying. She saw those spinster women at the store with their tiny carts of groceries. They filled the check-out belt with boxes of frozen dinners, bottles of wine, pints of Ben & Jerry’s, a lonely apple or two and endless tins of cat food.

Jennifer turned in the mirror and slid on a chunky bracelet. There. Casual, but not too much. She carefully applied her makeup. Too much eye shadow? I don’t want to look desperate. Wait, am I desperate? Half of her missed feeling connected. Having a teammate, someone to share things with. Someone who would rub her feet after work. Someone she could cook for. Someone who she would hug and talk to about anything and nothing. The other half screamed, “Fuck that, be alone! It’s safer! Be a strong independent woman - with ice cream and Netflix.”

***

She was somewhere between youthful inexperience and old uselessness. Her coffee-colored eyes held fast to the corner crinkles when she stopped smiling. Thick, dark hair threaded with glistening strands of silver fell below her shoulders. Men didn’t stare with longing as much as they used to, but every so often, she could feel the burning sensation of another’s eyes boring into her rounded backside as she strode to her car.

She spoke with Michael the night before to confirm their late lunch and he had a smooth, deep voice. A dog barked in the background. She frequently preferred dogs to people.

“I’ll have a red bag,” she said.

“Um, OK. Why don’t you just let the hostess know you’re meeting me?” he said. “So, what did Sam tell you… about me?”

“Not much, to be honest. I don’t think she wanted me to have any preconceived notions. She may have said you were really good looking and smart. Or, wait. Maybe she said she’d tell you that about me.” Jen smiled.

“Ha. That sounds like Sam.”

Jen: 12:45 p.m. – Excitement.

With a deep breath, Jen grabbed her phone and purse and left the house early.

Carmel Café was alive with the clinking of cutlery and hum of conversation. The day was overcast and the patio full of diners. Jennifer found a small table near the window and put her red bag on the table within eyeshot.

“Hi, I’m Meghan. What can I get you to drink? Or are you ready to order?” The pretty, young server had spiraling auburn ringlets that were the kind of curls women tried in vain to imitate.

“Just water, please. I’m waiting for someone.”

Michael: 12:50 p.m. – Hopeful.

He played the conversation over in his mind. She didn’t know. A memory of the last time he tried to date caused a searing flash to rip through him.

“Sorry,” she said as soon as she laid eyes on Michael. “I just can’t do this.” She picked up her purse and left.

Michael’s hand lingered over his wallet and keys. With a shake of his head, he shoved them in his pocket and grabbed the dog leash.

Jen: 1:15 p.m. – Nervous.

Jennifer’s stomach growled. The smell of warm, crusty bread permeated the restaurant. A tall man with dark hair walked toward her. Is that him? He caught her eye and kept walking. Was that him? After the divorce, friends told her she needed to “get back on the horse.”

Her last date was six months ago, a man who had been glued to the television during their meeting because it was March Madness. Most of his enthusiasm went into yelling, “Aw, c’mon!” for Kentucky whenever they missed. She slept with him anyway. He never called.

Michael: 1:20 p.m. – Panic.

“Taxi!” The rain was coming down steadily enough to assure an empty cab was scarce. Michael reached for his phone just as the high-pitched chirp warned him of an impending dead battery. Oh no. Not today.

Jen: 1:28 p.m. - Disappointment.

More tables were open now. Jennifer checked her phone. No text. Twenty-eight minutes late. When she looked up, Meghan was there.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to order?”

“Well, I’d like to, but my friend is running late, so I’ll wait.”

“I’ll bring you some bread.”

“That would be fantastic,” Jennifer replied. “Do you have sweet tea?”

“Sure do.”

“You know what? Make that a Long Island.”

A Muslim woman floated by covered from head to toe in a niqab comprised of two different shades of pink. A pang of longing hit Jen and she wondered for a moment what it was like, to be able to keep hidden, stay secret. To have fat days without anyone knowing. To be taken seriously for who you are instead of passed over because of your looks or age.

No one else had a red purse in the restaurant.

Michael: 1:35 p.m. – Frustration.

Traffic slowed to a crawl as the rain wreaked havoc. Michael and the cab driver had exchanged curt words over Stella being both damp and a dog. I’m going through all this bullshit to meet her and she probably won’t even be there. Or, she might walk out as soon as she sees me.

Jen: 1:50 p.m. - Surrender.

The Long Island ice tea caused a nice warming sensation. She realized the bread basket was empty. Damn. I’m not even supposed to be eating carbs, let alone sinfully delicious Italian carbs.

Jennifer’s co-worker had set up this blind date. “Mike’s great. Two grown kids, semi-retired psychiatrist, widower. He’s nice looking and witty. You’ll like him. He’s already done the kid thing. He is just looking for someone to hang out with.”

Maybe he had an accident. Dog got out? Car trouble? But he couldn’t call? Maybe I should get a half dozen cats and give up on this dating thing while I’m 0-2.

Meghan subtly cleared the bread basket. “Do you know what you want to order?”

“My date to show up.” Jen cocked her head to the side. “But you know what? I don’t think he’s going to. Can I just pay for the bread and drink?”

Meghan gave her a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on me. Rainy Saturdays are perfect for museums and movies. Go enjoy it.” Jennifer half-heartedly smiled, thanked her and left a tip as she gathered her bag.

“Jennifer?” A handsome older man with salt-and-pepper hair walked towards her. “I’m Michael. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get a cab.” He was tall and slender with wide shoulders. His aviator sunglasses accented his high cheekbones and full lips.

“Apparently, you also couldn’t text.” Jennifer’s anger came rising to the surface.

“True. I’d like to sound cool and say Machete don’t text. But really, I can’t text.” He removed his glasses and put them on the table. That was when she noticed he had a dog. A guide dog.

He’s blind.

“Is the food here any good?” he continued, while sitting down. “I figure you’re the one to ask since you probably got fed up with me and ate. Plus, you may be leaving soon, now that you know the whole story.”

“I didn’t eat.” Jennifer said as she sat down at the table.

“Oh, good! I’m starving. Aren’t you? I’ll bet some idiot made you wait, didn’t he? Perhaps you’ll do me the honor of humoring me a little bit longer so I might have someone lovely to eat with other than Stella here.” Stella waved her tail. “So?” he said, pointedly.

“So,” she repeated.

“Yes. The elephant at the table. Let’s have it.” He carefully felt for his napkin and placed it in his lap.

“Oh, the irony. If only you knew how many outfits I went through and how much time I spent doing my makeup today.” Michael laughed, revealing perfect teeth. Meghan bustled around them, refilling waters and taking food orders.

“Well I’ll just ask. Since Sam obviously didn’t give you heads up about me being blind, is this a deal breaker?”

“What? Why would it be? You being an ax murderer is a deal breaker. Not being able to see is, quite honestly, probably a gift.”

“I can see. I just don’t have vision. I see differently than you do.”

“OK, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I’m really bad at this whole…dating…thing,” Jen sighed. “You’re my first date in a while.”

“Why’s that? Sam said you were funny, smart, and attractive. Why wouldn’t you be dating?”

“You want the honest answer or the polite one?” Emboldened by alcohol and confidence since he wouldn’t be judging her looks, she decided to channel her inner Tom Cruise (a la Risky Business) and say “what the fuck” by hazarding complete honesty.

“I’d prefer you to tell me what you really think.”

“Because I felt like I didn’t have anything to offer, like I’m broken.”

“Oh, darlin’.” Michael drawled in a put-on Southern accent. “We are all broken. That’s how the light gets in. Some of us are just brighter than others.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“I wish I could say it’s mine. I stole it from Ernest Hemmingway and Leonard Cohen.”

“And you give credit! Most would try to pass it off as their own. You know, if you steal from one person, it’s plagiarism. If you steal from several, it’s research.”

“True,” he laughed. “But what if I didn’t and you found out later? You’d think I was disingenuous.”

“I would.”

“So, tell me. How do you feel you’re broken?” Despite his eyes looking slightly past her, his attention was completely focused.

“Well, in the event you are my blue-eyed prince…no wait…my blind-eyed prince, and I were to fall wildly in love with you all Disney-style and stuff, it’s a good thing you already have kids. Mommy material is something I’m not, according to my wonderful uterus.”

“OK. Honestly, look what you have. You can go on trips, spend your money the way you wish, not have to go to PTA meetings or soccer practice. You have freedom. And, with almost three hundred million in this country, it’s no wonder I couldn’t get a cab. I kid!” He winked at her. “But for real. There are many who would trade lives with you. Having children is rewarding, but it’s incredibly difficult. Unfortunately, too many people do it for the wrong reasons. To make someone else happy, to save a marriage. Perhaps because they think it defines them or it’s just what they’re supposed to be doing. I know. I’m a psychiatrist. Were any of those a factor?”

“Kind of. He wanted a large family.”

“Then that was his want. Whether it’s living someone else’s dream or the insinuation that you’re defective, if you’re told something enough, you’ll start to believe it. But, that doesn’t make it universal truth. We give people the power to make us feel a certain way. We can simply decide not to anymore.” He waved Meghan down and ordered them a couple Long Islands.

Turning to Jen, he asked, “Do you mind if I wear my glasses?”

“Why? Do you need to?”

“I’ve been told my inability to make eye contact makes people feel uncomfortable.”

“You’re fine, leave them off,” she said as she leaned over to stroke Stella’s giant yellow Labrador head. Stella responded by pressing herself against Jen’s leg.

Jen and Michael: 4 p.m. – Laughing.

He reached out and touched her face with both hands, lightly trailing his fingers over her chin and cheekbones, across her eyebrows, down her perfectly straight nose and lingered at her lips. Electric pulses ran up her arms while goose bumps simultaneously ran down them.

“Beautiful,” he said. She was glad he couldn’t see her reaction or the hot, red flush he’d triggered.

“Do you think I’m defective? Some might. But I’m not. I believe I have a distinct advantage in life and I’ll tell you why. Do you know how many times I’ve been asked to help people move? Zero. I don’t have to be a designated driver. I’ve only been asked to help someone paint once, and I think it was a wrong number.” Jennifer giggled as he continued. “I save a lot of cash every year on my electric bill. Light bulbs? Ha! I laugh at light bulbs. I have extra room in my house because I don’t clutter it up with giant TV’s. I am almost never exposed to negativity, because I can’t see eye rolling, dirty looks or middle fingers. Nobody asks me for directions. If you were to go on a date with me again – and I hope you will – you’ll reap some serious benefits.”

“Oh, yeah? Do tell.” Like never having to shut the lights off during sex?

“Well, I’ll never be one of those guys who sits on his phone while we’re together. You’ll be extra beautiful from the sleep you’ll get instead of spending time on makeup. You can save money on getting your hair colored and just tell me you’re now a blonde. I’ll believe you. If you have a bad hair day, so what? Oh…and we’ll have so much more time to make out because I don’t play video games. As a matter of fact, I pretty much qualify as a card-carrying super hero.” “Well, damn. I believe you’ve not only sold me but set me straight, Superman.”

Michael reached over, took her hand and softly kissed the back of her fingers. “I promise you, where you are right now in life is exactly where you should be. Everything always turns out to be OK.” Jen blinked, taken aback. For the first time in a long time, she believed it.